Mudblood
by Whisper Gypsy
Summary: Hermione was captured and tortured by Bellatrix, and never managed to escape. The boys get to Shell Cottage and send to the Order to Hermione for help, but will they get there in time? And what will happen to Hermione after her torture? What does this have to do with ghosts from the past? What secrets have set the cards in play?
1. Prologue

A/N: I know, I know, starting ANOTHER fic. Bear with me, I promise to finish all of them. Please enjoy my take on Cinderella, via J.K. Rowling's magnificent universe.

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Prologue

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The red light slowly faded before her tired, weeping eyes.

A bright cackle split the tension in the room, rubbing itself into the lacerations on the brunette's bleeding back. "Ooooooh! I love this one! Let's try it again! Crucio!" The bubbly chatter came from the woman dressed all in black. She seemed to bob to and fro as though she was either drunk, or perhaps uncertain of where exactly she was and where she had meant to be going. Her form may have stumbled, but her wand arm remained steady, pointing delicately in a slight curve towards the whimpering brunette staining her imported rug with the blood dripping from her limbs, face, and body. Despite her whimpers, the brunette had yet to scream today, which meant Bellatrix was just getting warmed up. After ending the curse once more, Bellatrix danced about, black skirt swirling about her knees, boots clacking against the stone and then thudding softly on the carpet. The mad witch jumped and danced about, thoroughly enjoying her personal revenge on the smartest portion of Dumbledore's favored "Golden Trio", Mudblood Granger.

Hermione gasped from the floor, left hand spasming from the nerve damage caused when Bellatrix had carved 'Mudblood' into Hermione's arm, her right arm was reflexively reaching for her wand, which lay just beyond her reach. She couldn't keep her eyes in focus and was trying frantically to come up with some method of escape. Dobby had managed to get Harry, Ron, Luna, Mr. Ollivander, and Griphook away from the Manor, but Hermione had seen the blade bury itself in his chest when he came back for her. His body had disappeared right after, so she could only assume he had apparated to the others as no text she had ever read involving House Elves mentioned their bodies disintegrating upon death. There had rather been voluminous references to peeved wizards dumping the rotting bodies in a rubbish heap, or into a furnace to rid their homes of the filth.

A small whimper escaped her at the thought of his death. Dobby had been her greatest help with S.P.E.W. and a true friend to the Golden Trio. He expected nothing from them and was overjoyed at the smallest displays of affection. Hermione sniffled. And now he was dead; he had died trying to save her life. She had to escape. She would escape. But she needed her wand. She managed to focus her eyes on the 10 and ¾ inch vine wood with dragon heart string and reached her hand out for it. Her fingertips brushed lightly against it, almost teasingly. She breathed out painfully and reached for the wand once more. She had it by her fingertips when Bellatrix whirled aournd, abruptly ending her mad waltz.

"Oh, ho, ho! Does the little Mudblood want her wand? Silencio! Arresto Momentum! Petrificus Totalus! There, that's better. I don't mind you having your wand, you know," Bellatrix addressed the silenced and frozen witch on the floor. "You will most certainly need your wand where you're going! Ha-hm! Well, I can't very well have your little friends coming in to rescue you and finding you, now can I? No, of course not. Which is why I'm going to send you where no one will be looking for you. Good bye, precious little mudblood princess. Tell Sirius I send my love, will you?" And with a twisted sort of smile, the Azkaban escapee pointed her wand at the Gryffindor seventh year and whispered, "Finite Incantatem. Mobilitempus Corpusrelevant."

With a bang of yellow smoke and silver sparks, Hermione Granger disappeared.

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The doors to Malfoy Manor banged open. Remus, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, and Lee Jordan burst through, firing spells and whirling into action. Fenrir launched into battle with Bill and Remus, Rudolphus attacked Arthur and Kingsley, Narcissa, Draco, and Lucius didn't move to defend themselves, but stood impassively as Lee, Fred and George trained their wands to the blonde family. Charlie and Molly had their wands trained on the cackling form of Bellatrix Lestrange. Molly screamed out first, "What have you done with her? Where is Hermione? Give her to us, you bitch!"

Bellatrix stopped laughing, but turned and smiled at the red-haired matriarch. "Oh, dear. I don't think I can do that. You see," Bellatrix danced back a few steps before pacing forward. "I don't have her anymore. Well I do, but I don't. It's really not all that complicated."

Charlie grunted and sent a spell flying at her, "Expelliarmus!" He caught her wand as it flew end over end into his free hand. "What have you done with Hermione, Lestrange?"

Only cackling answered the second oldest Weasley's question.

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A/N: So, how do you all like it so far? Please review with feedback! I will PM a preview to anyone who can guess what Bellatrix has done!

Gypsy


	2. Chapter One

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Amortentia-Malfoy, Hannah Bowers, and my anonymous reader for their raving reviews of the first chapter! ALSO: I hunted and researched but could not find the name of Lucius' mother/Abraxas' wife, so I have dubbed her Leonora until the time a reviewer points me to a resource which states a JK-approved moniker for the matriarch. Thank you for being so understanding. For the other family members, I used the family tree described by JK to a team of artists.

Disclaimer: Not mine. *scuffs shoe along floor* Not even a little bit.

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Chapter One

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Hermione's form shuddered and trembled as she felt hands whispering over her body, the touches burning like fire. She tried to scream but only managed a weak moan. All she knew was pain, never-ending, madly-spinning and growing pain.

Like a bubble being burst with a pin, the heated sensations ended and she couldn't feel anything. That either means that I'm being healed or I have died, Hermione thought absently. She was mildly surprised by how little emotion she managed to form for the realization, but she really couldn't bring herself to care. She tried to look around, but realized her eyes were shut. Wearily, she blinked them open and came face to face with the vaulted ceiling of the dining room at Malfoy Manor.

_Well_, Hermione thought bitterly, _at least I'm not dead_.

She blinked twice, focusing her eyes on the paneled ceiling above and tried to determine how much time had passed based on the slant of the light. _Something was off. But what?_

Hermione became aware of her company and turned her head to the left to see who was healing her. A floppy-eared house elf stood by at her side, delicately scrubbing layers of caked-on blood from her arm. With each stroke of the rag tucked into the small, bony fingers across her forearm, the garish moniker became more and more apparent. Hermione looked at the scar with nothing greater than apathy. _Why don't I care?_

She tried to focus on the house elf, seeing if she could recognize him, but this wasn't a house elf she had ever seen before. He was stooped with great age, and all seven of the hairs on his head were scraggly greys. She tried to speak, and although her lips formed the words, and air passed over her dry lips, no sound came forth. She turned away from the creature beside her and found there was one other person in the room with them. Lounged across a dark chaise was a middle-aged woman with white-blonde hair. It wasn't Narcissa Malfoy, and Hermione could think of no one else who would be there.

Her questions must have written themselves across her face for the woman began to speak. "Now, I'm certain you have no memory of whatever happened to you. Abraxas has always been very thorough with his memory charms. However impossible it is for me to stop his behavior, I do not condone what he is doing. I have contacted an old school friend of mine, and she and her husband will take you in. Now, Tricksy has given you a numbing potion, and is trying to clean you up a bit, but we do not have time for much more, I'm afraid. I'm certain you're weary, but I must insist that you take this portkey to Dorea's residence. She and I have already discussed this plan so she'll know what to do. Just give her this. Here, child." And with no further ado, the woman leaned over and placed a small silver chain into the bloodied girl's hands. "I wish you luck; not many come away from this alive. You must never speak of this to anyone, understand?"

Hermione never got to thank her rescuer, for in the very next moment, Malfoy Manor swirled away before her eyes. A new room swam into her view in its place, but Hermione did not recognize it. The numbing potion appeared to be beginning to wear off, for Hermione could feel a painful wracking in her ribs and a tearing in her throat. She realized she was panting and felt her ribs ache and protest at each harsh breath. Black dots began to swim before her eyes and she made out a feminine exclamation of surprise before darkness claimed her.

* * *

Hermione snuggled deeper into the warm cotton sheets which so comfortably cocooned her body. She was on the most comfortable bed she had ever been on and she felt as though she had slept for weeks she was so thoroughly rested. She wondered vaguely where she was, but it didn't seem all that important to her at the moment. She allowed sleep to take her in it's cloying embrace once more, not noticing the woman in the rocking chair beside her, praying that the battered young woman laying beside her, a girl who was her own son's age and had already been put through hell, would pull through and wake up. Hermione found it far too much work to pay attention to such details. Sleep was a much higher priority.

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The sun rose as it always did, in the east, and lit over the grand expanse of lawn, garden, and mansion in Wiltshire which made up Malfoy Manor. Abraxas Malfoy had returned from a meeting just around four that morning and so as not to disturb his lady wife he went and slept in the Lord's chambers which adjoined to their mutual room, opposite from her private chambers. Because of this, it was not until later on, at the midday meal that he saw the stiff, cold demeanor she greeted him with.

Leonora hadn't been so formal with him in several years, back when he had been assisting Grindewald with the torture of mudbloods. Now, Abraxas still loathed the little ingrates, but for some reason the female mudbloods had some amount of pity from her, and his maltreatment of them had created a rift in their previously loving marriage. He had not touched a mudblood since two months prior to Grindewald's death, out of love for Leonora, and he could think of nothing he had done to irritate her so.

"Love, what's the matter?" he inquired, ignoring his plate of delicacies and giving her his full attention.

Leonora glanced up at her husband briefly, ice in her eyes. She elegantly arched one golden eyebrow, and placed a forkful of cut meat into her mouth, careful not to touch the silver tines to her red lipstick. She chewed slowly, staring at her husband the whole time. His gaze was just as unwavering. She swallowed her meat, sipped her wine, and spoke in a voice Abraxas had to strain to hear, "You promised me."

She glanced down at the wine in her glass, fingers stroking the stem of the Goblin silver and wrought glass with something akin to pity or regret. She turned to face her husband and whispered in a voice Abraxas once again strained to hear, "I found her."

Abraxas raised a single eyebrow in return and asked, in a clear voice, "You found who?"

Leonora clenched her jaw and pinched the stem of her wine glass more tightly between her fingertips. "Do not try to bait me, Abraxas, I haven't the patience. I found another one of your mudblood toys left broken on the floor. In this room in fact. You promised me there would be no more of this nonsense. I had to clean up your mess and see another woman so brutalized." She shut her eyes in pain. "Merlin, you carved the word into her _arm_, 'Rax. Why did you do it? It's been years and-"

"I have kept my promise to you." Abraxas face was cool and impersonal, but his eyes seethed with rage for her distrust and bad faith. "I have not captured, tortured, killed, hexed, cursed, or assisted in any of the above to anyone, mudblood or otherwise."

Leonora opened her eyes slowly and peered at her husband through the Goblin-wrought silver candelabra which sat between them on the table. "Do you mean to tell me that the girl I saw was not real? That the blood which had soaked through the new mink rug was illusionary?" Her tone was sharp and brittle, emotions riding closer to the breaking point in her irate mind.

"I am not accusing you of lying, Leonora; nor am I calling you crazy." Abraxas bit his words out, tamping down his rage, steeling himself for what he hoped would be a rational debate. He took a swift pull from his glass of aged fire-whiskey, clutching the fragile glass fiercely.

Leonora looked from his boiling eyes to the wax dripping along the pearl candlesticks sitting in the candelabra. "I had company the other day." Abraxas tensed at the sudden topic shift, but listened for the connection; there always was one with his Ravenclaw wife. "Druella and her eldest daughter were over for tea. We discussed paltry and sundry things, even touching upon Lucius spending his holidays with the Dolohov family. Tricksy went to get refreshments, and failed to return, Dory coming in his stead. I knew something was off in that moment. After making some excuses to Druella and Bellatrix, who Flooed home, I had Dory take me to Tricksy. I found him tending to the wounds of a heavily bleeding mudblood. Tricksy had apparently found her during the visit." Leonora closed her eyes and swallowed, ignoring the rising temper of her husband. "How long was she there, Abraxas, laying in her own blood, whimpering with fear?" She threw her full wine glass against the wall, spilling the blood-red liquid over the immaculate unicorn hair tablecloth. "How long was she going to remain untended? Were you even planning to kill her or prolong your perverse little games?" Her mouth soured as she continued demanding answers of her husband.

A buzzing that flooded his ears drowned out the end of his wife's rant, as Abraxas' vision narrowed. She was making jerking hand gestures, eyes still shut in anger, spittle flying from her patrician lips. "_Enough_," he whispered bitterly, but went unheard. Leonora kept going on, pitch increasing from yell to shout. He stood, calmly pushing his chair back. The finger of his left hand stroked his eighteen inch black elm wand lovingly, rubbing the familiar knots and grooves fondly. He walked over to his wife and placed his right hand on her shoulder, shocking her to silence, blue eyes flying open.

"I said _enough_, Leonora. You should recall your wedding day and your vows of obedience and loyalty, in return for which I vowed to honor you." He spoke in clipped tones, temper searing just beneath the surface of his calm facade at his wife's blatant display of distrust and bad faith.

Leonora glanced at the hand that enveloped her shoulder before standing and gliding out from under his grip. "And when you break your vows? Are my vows then to be held under such scrutiny where you have failed? The bridge has been burned, 'Rax; it's time to swim." She turned away from him stiffly, intent on leaving the dining room, but she never made it.

Abraxas lost his temper.

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Please review!


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: The use of the name "Esca" is dedicated to N. Fowleri. Happy late birthday, sis. And this is rapidly becoming the darkest fic I have ever concocted or posted, so I do want to warn my readers that it will continue to get darker - do not expect rainbows or sunshine.

Disclaimer: I wish this portion of the programming was unnecessary. Sadly, I regret to inform you it has earned its place. Damn it, anyway.

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Chapter Two

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_Tap, tap, tap._

Lucius turned away from his companion Antonin Dolohov and focused his attention on the large eagle, Esca, which had just flown into his room, bearing a letter with the vaulted Malfoy insignia sealed onto it. "Merlin's bent wand, Lucius, does your mum really write to you all the time? Worried you'll piss yourself if she's not watching over you? She does know you're of age now, right?"

Lucius chuckled at the good natured ribbing, and took the letter from Esca, turning it over and reaching for the letter opener on Antonin's desk. "Of course she does, 'Nin, but she gets lonely when Father and I are both gone from the Manor for very long. Not that I blame her. Besides, being my mum's favorite child has been quite beneficial, wouldn't you say?"

Antonin chuckled over the snide comment Lucius had made with his trademark 'holier-than-thou' smirk as the blonde read over his letter. "And the fact you are her only child has nothing to do with that I'm sure." He glanced over and saw the rapidly sobering, pale face of his best mate. "Luc?" he whispered. "What is it?" He took two steps closer to the young Malfoy heir, ready to aid his dearest friend and closest ally in any way he could.

Lucius stared at the parchment in his hand, smoothing the roughened corner absently. "It's Father. Father wrote me to say I was needed at home immediately. No one has seen or heard from Mum in a few days. He fears it may be an attack inspired by lingering victims of Grindewald's reign, and wants me home." Lucius' voice broke as he continued, "Mum has been missing since the day I got her owl. She disappeared that afternoon. 'Nin, she'll be fine, right? She just went on a spa-trip, or shopping without informing the house elves, or leaving any note, right?"

Antonin swallowed thickly and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let's get you home, Lucius, so you can hear the whole story. I'll go inform Mum and Dad." He squeezed the shoulder in his grip before turning and giving the tall young man some time to think, to process, and to hopefully come to terms with the fact that he may never see his mother again, might never know what happened to her.

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Abraxas Malfoy was dominating his study, despite the three reporters, two camera-wizards, five Ministry officials, and three teams of Aurors overwhelming the space. He answered each question put forth to him with succinct replies, tactfully stating as little as possible while reinforcing his desire for his loving wife to be returned to him. His honest, but clearly distracted remarks won him the affection of the simpering reporters and the flashy counterparts, while it dociled the Ministry officials who were gathering closer and closer to him, ensuring him that every measure would be taken, no stone left unturned, no summoning charm left untried. Abraxas nodded to the empty-headed bevy of overbearing fools and addressed the Aurors, demanding they branch out into action immediately, for his wife, the Lady and Grand Madam Malfoy was out there somewhere, probably cold, filthy, suffering, and alone, and that was something for which he would tolerate no tardiness in response to.

It was within short order, then that all the public persons were dismissed from the estate and that the Lord and Grand Master Malfoy sat in his armchair, reaching for his glass of fire-whiskey. He sighed, swallowed a large swig of the clear liquid, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the headache resounding from behind that spot. Truly, he felt as though an adventurous mountain troll had taken up lodging behind his eyes and was idling his time between pounding the bony walls surrounding him and dancing a very heavy, drunken jig-like reel.

The fireplace to his left roared to life, green flames licking the stony edges of the hearth's mouth. The first figure to stride through was his son, his son who had his grey eyes but his mother's long blonde hair. Abraxas' dark molten grey eyes hardened against the lasting symbols of his weaker, gentler half. A half which was now lost to him. "Son," he whispered, rising from the chair, glass balancing on the arm. He spread his arms out to his son in a rare gesture of physical emotion. Lucius was more frightened by his father's outward display than he had been by the piecemeal information in the short letter from earlier. Abraxas pulled the boy tightly to him, resting his forehead in the crook of his son's shoulder.

"What happened, Father?" Abraxas lifted his head, but pinched his lips together as Antonin and his parents stepped through with Lucius' things.

Dimitri Dolohov spoke first, "Abraxas, I wish to offer our sincerest empathies during this difficult time. What can we do to lighten your burden, my friend?"

His wife Imolene, slipped her hands into the crook of his elbow, blending into the background in her navy dress and blazer, vivid chocolate hair curled away from her face. The two white strips of hair starting at her temple were swept back into a small knot at the back of her head, and fastened by a small sapphire. Her own sapphire-blue eyes were pinched tight with loss; Leonora was one of her dearest friends and the possibility of what her friend was enduring caused her heart to punish her ribs painfully and her lungs to constrict unnaturally.

"Your offer means much to me, Dimitri, but there is nothing which can be done that is not already being done." Abraxas turned to address Dimitri's wife. "Imolene, if you hear anything from her, please write to me immediately. I worry that whomever has done this may not allow her to have contact with her family, if at all." Imolene nodded, stepping forward to place a hand on Abraxas' arm, placing the other on the small of Lucius' back.

Antonin took his mother's cue and stepped forward, gripping Lucius' shoulder once more. "I'm here, mate." he whispered. "Besides, you should write 'Cissa. She'll want to help you." Lucius nodded at Antonin's barely audible advice and locked his gaze with his father's.

"Please leave us to ourselves for a time, Dimitri, Imolene, Antonin. I must speak with Lucius alone for a time."

The Dolohov family bowed familiarly, and left the Manor in the same way they arrived.

Once alone, Lucius questioned his father once more, "Father, please tell me what happened?"

Abraxas looked upon his son for several long minutes, saying nothing. Abruptly, he moved away from the child who reminded him too much of his 'Nora. "Lucius. You are of age now. Your decisions will remain your own, although they will greatly affect your family. Do you understand?"

Lucius nodded, wondering how this pertained to his absent mother. Abraxas continued, "The greatest asset belonging to the Malfoy family is honor. You will always honor this family, its name, its traditions, all it has stood for down through the ages. And, when someone dares to question the honor of this family, what will you do, son?" Stony eyes battled from under aristocratic brows as Lucius attempted to muddle through the swamp of words his father was attempting to drown him in.

"I will defend our honor, Father. As I should, and should it be required of me, I will ruin or finish those who will not realize their errors." Lucius stood tall, recalling the many lectures he had received as a child at his father's knee, proclaiming the defense of honor, and of how it was the only asset greater than blood purity, if by a slim margin as the two were interrelated. Lucius knew better than to question his father, particularly involving this subject having been subjected to the backlash of his wrath when he idly pondered the merits of this belief. Lucius no longer had any doubts regarding honor; if his father, who rarely touched him, would lay a hand against his own son for merely contemplating the maligning of the family name, then it was of course a matter of the greatest import and moral weight. There was never any more question on that subject, hadn't been since his third year at Hogwarts, so why was his father mentioning it now?

Abraxas relaxed his shoulders, and the grim set of his eyes eased. "Good. Thank you, son, for being such a dutiful Heir. You bring comfort to me in this trying time. Your mother's disappearance is a matter of family honor, son. Someone has questioned the Malfoy name and it will always be our duty to punish those who attempt to inflict harm or dishonor to our family. I hope I may always count on you to continue our work, son."

Abraxas never mentioned the topic to Lucius again; but then, the men never spoke of their absent family member either, except to share a glance on January third, the day before Lucius returned to finish his seventh year at Hogwarts. January third would have been Leonora's forty-eighth birthday.

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Dorea glanced at the sleeping girl in the bed beside her, worrying her lower lip. Never in her life had she been as frightened as she had been the moment this petite girl had appeared on her sitting room floor. She had been unconscious almost instantly, weakened from blood loss and whatever other indignities the girl had endured.

Dorea stood stiffly and straightened her spine, refusing to postulate beyond what the injuries clearly told her. There was a faint line of blood which kept welling from the center of her neck. Dorea assumed a blade had been held to her throat at one point, but was uncertain as to why the wound refused to heal. The words etched into the girl's arm weren't going anywhere either. Dorea shuddered as her fingers absently traced the letters onto her own arm. Whoever this girl was, it was clear she had thoroughly pissed off her capturer.

The girl also had wounds crisscrossing her torso, legs and arms, which looked to have been made repeatedly, considering the depths of the gouges. There were also singe marks, and varying wounds made from hexes and curses. The most unique of the marks was a scar Dorea had never seen before. Starting from the girl's left temple and tracing her jaw all the way down to her collarbone was a purple, spider web-like mark. Dorea had no theories as to what had caused the mark, but she knew it had been very painful, for the skin around the mark was pulled tight, as if it were stretching to accommodate an unwelcome guest.

Dorea's hand reached forward without her permission and kissed along the surface of the affected skin. The number of pain relieving, hex reversing, blood replenishing, and stamina improving potions she had poured down the poor girl's throat had created a large dent in her usually plentiful stores. Her thoughts idly strayed to her son away at Hogwarts, currently studying for his upcoming O.W.L.s, more in the attempt to impress his "future wife" than for any personal academic desires.

She frowned as she pictured the young muggleborn he had his heart set on in the place of the young woman lying before her. She was unable to stop the tears which prickled in the corners of her eyes. She quickly wiped away all evidence of her emotional breakdown, hurrying to settle the sheets more comfortably about her young charge.

Charlus opened the door to the small guest room and watched his wife tend to the weak patient. "Dorea, I have made discreet enquiries at the Ministry, and she matches no description of any of the missing persons list. I will check with the Muggle officials tomorrow; maybe she has no contacts within the Wizarding world who are aware she is missing."

"I hope we can find her family, Charlus. Why would no one be looking for her, except if they are dead? She was nearly dead herself, when she arrived." Dorea sniffed and pulled away from the girl, walking into her husband's embrace. Sighing, she added, "She should wake sometime tomorrow. The scans I was able to do show significant bleeding and damage done to her brain and throat. I am uncertain of how much damage will be permanent. But I'm hopeful that her other scars will finally stop bleeding and begin to mend. They will never go away, but..."

Her husband interrupted, "Better to live with them, than to be dead because of them; I know." Charlus leaned his head closer to his wife's and kissed her forehead. "When are we going to tell the boys about her? They've been wondering why you've looked so down lately." Charlus, his son James, and his adopted-at-heart son Sirius had all been visiting in Muggle London when the girl had arrived at the Manor. Both boys were still unaware of the true nature of their clandestine guest.

"We'll talk to them at breakfast. For now, let them sleep." Dorea yawned widely herself, belying her own exhaustion.

"You must rest as well. Andrea has had more than enough experience assisting you in the past, and has worked with you to save this girl. Let her keep the night watch tonight. Come to bed." Dorea wavered for a moment before she leaned more heavily against her husband of thirty-two years. He summoned the squib to come in and care for their newest charge before leading his wife to their bedchamber.

He lovingly helped her to undress and pull on a night rail, tucked her into bed, changed his own clothes and slipped in between the sheets beside her. His arm snaked around her, pulling her closer to him. Before he drifted off to sleep, he kissed her forehead lovingly.

* * *

"_Let her go! Take me! Don't hurt her! Don't you touch her!"_

Hermione thrashed about, trying to get to Ron and Harry to comfort them. She didn't hurt anymore, they could stop worrying. She was going to get back to them just as soon as she could. Her boys needed her. She tried to tell them to stay safe and that she would come to them, but they couldn't hear her. Tears painted war stains across her cheeks, dismal and bereft as she watched her boys run headlong into danger looking for her.

And all the while she was trapped in a glass box, held behind them unable to move closer. She collapsed to the floor of the glass prison and sobbed silently. As she drifted deeper into her grief, she idly noticed sand falling onto her, trying to bury her.

She just let it fall.

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REVIEW!


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: My longest chapter yet! I have been feeling uncharacteristicly insecure about the low number of reviews… Especially since this has introduced some darker elements. Therefore, I won't be posting another new chapter, until I get some feedback. Flaming is better than silence. P.S.- For those who do not know, the D.M.L.E. is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. (Special thanks to my new Beta Starcrescentmoon for pointing out my spelling errors and helping me to correct them!)

Disclaimer: Licensed to NotME, and a product of the NotMine Corporation.

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Chapter Three

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Esca sidled over on his perch, peering over his beak at the parchment his young master was scribbling on. He chirruped softly, inspiring the young blonde to glance over at the eagle. Esca preened under the attention, but his joy was short-lived, for the youth quickly resumed his measured scribbling. The maligned eagle turned his attention from the busy boy to the crate of squirming ferrets that rested on the ground beneath his perch. He leaned down to the cowering creatures, gazing with one large, bright eye, sizing up his future treats with glee.

Suddenly, the scribbling ceased. A murmured drying charm and a subsequent privacy hex later, the youth stood and approached Esca while rolling the parchment tightly within his hands. He charmed a band to surround the letter before he addressed the eagle, "Here, Esca. Take this to Narcissa Black. Wait for a response. When you get back, I'll give you two of the juiciest of these babbling, bouncing ferrets here." His words were accented by a swift kick to the crate, which caused the ferrets within to chitter and scramble about, mucking themselves into an even more untraceable mass as they sought to avoid their imminent death. "Go on now, boy. Don't forget to wait for a reply." Lucius finished attaching the scroll to the silver band on the eagle's leg and opened the nearby window.

Esca ruffled his feathers regally before swooping into the dark sky, black feathers blending in the the night and silver feathers glinting in the half moon light.

* * *

Andromeda gazed down the length of her wand, eyeing the bookshelves for a moment before determining which text she required this time. Once armed with The Art of Arithmancy in Ancient Runes by Lysander P. Delaware, which would be the perfect accompanying text for her Ancient Runes essay, she turned and left the library. As she walked down the long, house elf head studded hallway to her room, she stopped and knocked softly on Narcissa's slightly open door. "Cissy?" Andromeda entered her younger sister's room, standing just inside the doorway.

Narcissa glanced up from the letter in her hand and held up a single delicate finger to stall her sister's question a moment as she finished reading her letter. Andromeda peered about the room, so reflective of her baby sister:e the pearl colored bedset complemented the honey oak bed posts, while the blue and silver bed hangings belied her sister's Slytherin status. Narcissa's argument for the Ravenclaw colored room was, "Just because I am a Slytherin does not in any way imply that green is either my favorite color or very compatible with my color pallette. Blue is very soothing, and therefor will be the main player in my color scheme; silver as an accent is a tasteful recognition of my house loyalty." As Andromeda's gaze returned to her sister, she took note of a single tear tracking down her smooth cheek. "Cissy? What is it?"

Narcissa turned to her older sister, her rock, and whispered, "Lucius. He's just written. His-" Narcissa exhaled heavily, trying to battle the tremor in her voice and prevent any further crying. "His mum is missing. They'e contacted the D.M.L.E. and the Ministry, but there is nothing else they can do." Narcissa closed her eyes tightly. "Oh, Andy, his letter seems so desperate and broken. He doesn't have any brothers or sisters; it's just him, his mum and father. What do I tell him, how do I write to him and tell him all will be well, when I have no idea." Narcissa didn't notice the few tears falling to pool beside her clenched lips. Andromeda dropped the text on the floor and stepped forward to embrace her sister. "What if his mum was killed, how do I- How do I help him, Andy?"

Andromeda rocked her sister, soothing her by humming while she listened to her impassioned pleas. "By telling him the truth, Cissy. That you don't know how it will end, but that you will be right where he needs you each step of the way, no matter the outcome. I'm certain he could use some support, as well as someone he does not have to appear controlled and collected before. He needs someone he can worry with, and someone who will worry anyway, because she loves him. Tell him you care, Cissy, and let him decide the rest." Andromeda kissed her sixteen-year-old sister's fair head and pulled a silk handkerchief from her robe pocket. She delicately patted the salt from Narcissa's cheeks before saying, "I'll leave you to answer him. I'll be one room over if you need anything, Cis."

Narcissa nodded, staring at the black and silver eagle perched on her writing desk. Andromeda scooped her book from the floor, paused before closing the door, and saw her sister stroking the silky feathers of the majestic bird, as though by doing so she could somehow comfort his master.

Andromeda gave a weak smile and closed the door with a soft tug.

* * *

Abraxas left his son to his own devices for the remainder of the holiday, noticing only that his son wrote twice to the Dolohov heir, and several times with the youngest Miss Black, whom he had been courting for the majority of his seventh year. Abraxas reached for a bottle of their oldest _Superior Red_from the cellars at Malfoy Apothecaries, but as his fingers caressed the cool glass of the bottle, he recalled his wife's fondeness for the potent bouquet. His grip tightened for a moment, eyes pinching shut, jaw clenching, and the crows feet around his eyes wrinkling. And in the next heartbeat, his face was smooth and impersonal, jaw relaxed and fingers loose.

His hand skipped over the wine bottle and reached instead for the fullest decanter of Ogden's finest. Abraxas tipped the glass against his lips, pink tongue flicking out to smell the whiskey; with a fervently whispered, "Sanctimonia Vincit Semper", he knocked back the clear liquid in one bitter swallow.

The weeks slowly trudged past in a constant repitition of the same dull activities, marked only by the infrequent updates from the D.M.L.E. and the steadfast back and forth flights of Esca. Lucius was escorted by his father back to hogwarts the next day, a suffering silence stretching larger and achingly larger between them.

* * *

Dorea summoned both James Charlus Potter and Sirius Orion Black to her personal sitting room. She had each boy settle himself into a chair and she began to explain their guest's full state to them. Both boys had been told the retired mediwitch had a patient who needed rest and peace and silence, but neither had been told what had happened to her. "Boys, e brought you home from school for a few days just to visit, but then this happened. The young woman I've been tending was captured by blood purity extremists. The young woman is - as far as we can tell - muggleborn. We are trying to find her family, but have had no luck yet; no one seems to be missing her. Your father went to check with the Muggle authorities this morning. Any matter, the woman was captured, abused and tortured quite profoundly. For what purpose we do not know, but I was uncertain of whether she would survive at seeral points in her recovery. She should wake today, so we will be able to find out what we can, but be gentle with her, please boys. She has been through hell; let's give her a bit of paradise while she's with us."

Dorea glanced at her two boys, allowing them time to mull over what she had said, waiting for the questions she knew were coming.

Sirius went first, "Mum," she smiled as she always did when he called her that. "What did they do to her?"

James glanced up at his mother, waiting for her answer with all the seriousness of a fifteen year old boy thinking he knew everything. She sighed sadly. "Our guest was the victim of several dark curses: a wand-cutting charm, several bleeding and bruising hexes, several other painful curses, as well as two of the Unforgiveables." Both boys tensed. Sirius' eyes were large, black holes of closet skeletons. James looked as though he had just realized the world was a much larger, much more dangerous place than he had known it to be.

Dorea cleared her throat. "There is more. She... her arm was intentionally mangled; it was carved into with a wand, and then had some sort of potion poured over it to ensure scarring. They carved the word '_mudblood' _on her arm." Dorea closed her eyes against the tears which rose to the surface each time she dressed and cleaned that particular wound.

"_WHAT?_" gasped an enraged James and a livid Sirius in exact unison.

Dorea simply nodded. James was the first to recover. "You won't have to worry about anything from us, Mum." Sirius nodded while staring determinedly at the floor in confirmation of his best mate's words.

Dorea smiled at her boys. "Thank you. I knew I could count on the two of you."

Sirius kept his gaze on the floor, but whispered, "Mum. Did my-. Was it my family that did this to her?"

Dorea sadly gave him her honest answer, "I have no idea, Sirius."

* * *

Even as the dream came to an end, she knew it was still raining sand - no matter that she couldn't feel the grains cascading over her skin anymore.

Her mouth tasted like she had been snogging the cotton stuffing from her pillow. For a week. Hermione rubbed her tongue along her lips, trying to erase the matted flavor and change the thick, heavy texture of her tongue. Her sleepy eyelids slid open, pupils dilating as they flickered over the space she was lying in. It looked nothing like her familliar bunk in the tent. _Where am I? Where are Harry and Ron?_ Hermione moved quickly to sit up and seek them out; too quickly it seemed, as spots of light dotted her vision, and a fresh wave of vertigo attacked her sense of equilibrium.

"Hold still, dear. Just lie back a bit and drink this water for me." A soft voice souded in her ears, filling an aching chasm she hadn't been aware of until it was filled. A cool glass touched her lips, the flowing liquid soothing the raggedness in her throat.

She finished drinking and looked up at the matronly woman tending to her. She was in her late forties, with dark hair overrun by white strands. Her hazel eye gleamed kindly and her smile set most of Hermione's fears aside. She moved her lips around the words "thank you", but no sound came forth.

"Just a moment, dear. Let me run some tests." The woman - apparently a witch - pulled her wand from the robes Hermione hadn't noticed she was wearing and waved it about, whispering spells under her breath. Hermione couldn't feel anything, but every now and then she would see different colored lights, purple most frequently, but blue and gold showed up often enough as well. Her head tilted up to look at the woman, but a slight pinching at the front of her neck caused her to wince.

The witch finished taking the tests and looked Hermione in the eye. "Well, love, you won't like my news. How does your head feel?" Hermione paused and moved the part in question, expecting pain, but not receiving any. She shrugged, understanding speech might be beyond her at this point. The woman nodded. "Well, darling, you were hurt, pretty badly. You have several scars ,most of which will fade over time. You received heavy trauma to your brain, but it seems to that you are rather hard-headed, or at least rather resilient. One thing you cannot recover from though, is the damage to your vocal chords. You must have screamed terribly to have completely shredded them. I was unable to heal them as the damage was done without aid of magic with a simple reversal spell and medical studies aren't as advanced as your healing would require. You will never speak again."

Hermione reeled from the shock of the woman's proclamation, but quickly grounded herself in concern for her boys. She moved her writing hand, gesturing her need to write and was promptly given parchment, quill, and ink.

She scribbled furiously, taking the time to be neat: _Where am I? Who are you? What's the date? How long have I been out?_

Hermione stopped there, determining that the answeres to the questions would shape her follow-ups. She turned her face to the witch once more, passing her the parchment. The witch smiled, "Of course. I am Lady Dorea Potter, but you may call me Dorea. This is the guest room in the East Wing of Potter Manor. We lie about halfway between Hogwarts and London. The Hogwarts Express passes us each year. Anyhow, today is January 4th, 1976, as you slept right through the New Year, but you had a very good excuse. You've been in my care since December 29th of last year." Dorea paused, notign the rampant panic spreading across the younger woman's features, particularly the violent flushing of her skin surrounding the purple mark. "There now, dear. my husband Charlus and I have been trying to find your family, but haven't had any luck yet. Is there anyone we could contact for you? What's your name, dear?"

Hermione choked on the tears flooding her vision. Her eyes burned with the effort to hold them in. She grabbed the parchment and scratched out her replies.

_No. There is no one. Everyone I love is gone from me. You have been very kind to me, in healing me and caring for me all this time. I do not wish to repay that kindness by bringing Death Eaters to your door. they knew my name and may be searching for me. This way, if they ask, you can honestly say you don't know me when they give you my name. Call me something else. From now on I am Esmerelde Adhara Finn. I will need a few days to get my feet under me, but after I'll get out of your hair._

Hermione paused, question on the tip of her tongue, tantalizing her curiosity but she decided not to ask if the woman was related to her Potters. After all, James would only be fifteen or sixteen at thris point in time. _Merlin, Bellatrix sent me through time... Did she mean to do so? Is that why she said to say hello to Sirius? I thought she was going to kill me..._

Dorea's answers to her second note interrupted her musings. "Well, my dear, I am sorry there is no one. You are more than welcome to stay with us; in fact, I insist on it. You will stay with us for as long as you like, Esmerelde. Can I call you 'Mer? It's so much less of a mouthful." Hermione nodded. "And, what is a 'Death Eater'?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Deciding, off the cuff, to keep her answers simple she wrote: _The people who did this._ Dorea nodded. "Well," she whispered. "A dear friend of mine found you and sent you to me. Shortly after which, she disappeared. While I do not want the same ot happen to my family, I must insist you stay with us until my friend is found or those who did this to you have been caught - terrifying name or not." Dorea smiled aintly, eyes milky with tears for her missing friend. Hermione reached her hand forward and pressed Dorea's cheek lightly.

Briskly shaking her head, Dorea continued, "Now, my husband, charlus, and I host a gathering of concerned citizens who have noticed the increase in attaks against muggles and muggleborns recently. I'd like you to attend our meeting tonight, so we can add your... 'Death Eaters' to our lists, Mer. What do you say?"

* * *

Hermione stood dumbly in the doorway, staring at the younger versions of her future compatriots.

Moody's "mad" eye swirled about in it's metal socket, pupil focusing on each piece of the woman in question, paying particular attention to her bandaged left arm, the shining oil on the nick on her neck, the purple, vein-like scar stemming from her temple, and -oddly enough- her feet, hands, and hair. He seemed riveted by one of the greatest mysteries his mind had ever encountered. The blue orb swirled, well, madly, back and forth from each interesting piece of her, absorbing and digesting every piece of information he could about the stranger.

Hermione did him a simillar favor; she focused first on his legs -both whole- and then on the various places she recalled being scarred before, but weren't yet. His face was much healthier, although he had already lost his eye. If she was remembering correctly from her History of Magic textbook, the Auror had lost it during the last battle with Grindewald's army. She swallowed, wondering at how much war the man had seen, and would continue to see, before it finally claimed his life. '_Constant Vigilance'_, she thought morosely, recalling his prompt and frequent vocalization, a haunted smile ghosting over her lips, quirking them to the right a bit.

Moody's perusal shifted to complete focus on her eyes, even his wandering eye, as though he had heard what she just thought. Maybe he had. Her eyes smiled into his, and then continued looking him over, noting his battle stance which mirrored her own, his wand as ready as hers, and his constant movement which all brought back the countless lessons he, Kingsley, and Remus had given to her and the boys back at Grimmauld place, training the young warriors. She half-expected to hear a loud "Wotcher!" followed by a crash of some sort behind him, before recalling that Tonks wasn't even Hogwarts age yet.

All around the two who were eyeing each other like fighting dogs, testing for weaknesses and sniffing out strengths, the various Order members conversed and waited for their Head to arrive. Moody still seemed unsatisfied by all he had found, raising a questioning brow at her as he glanced once more to her hands, feet, and hair, but nodded at her nonetheless.

"Well. Now that good ole Al' approves of her, can I ask her out to dinner?" Hermione was jerked from her thoughts by a loud, rambunctious voice and turned in time to see an attractive red-haired woman smack a much taller ruddy-haired man. She searched her memory, trying to place the both of them when another ruddy-haired man, identical to the first walked in. Her breath left her body in a whoosh and she tottered dangerously. Moody was the first by her side, helping her to stand, while taking care not to grip her injured arm or sides, until her knees finally realized they hadn't been jelly-legsed. Dorea noticed her plight and quickly moved closer to the still-weak woman she had nursed back from Death's door.

"Wow, Fabian, I don't think we've ever had a witch actually swoon at the sight of us before, have we? I think I'd remember that. I definately would if she were as pretty as this little witch." The newest man's eyes glinted with unabashed mirth as he glanced over at his twin. The short woman between the two quickly turned to him and gave him the same treatment she had just administered to his doppleganger. Fabian guffawed, which earned him another smack as well.

"Ouch, Molls, why do you insist on punishing us for our good looks? Besides your boys are in the next room with Arthur, and just think of the example you are setting, dearest. Tsk, tsk."

Hermione was able to stand on her own again, and she walked, albeit unsteadily, over to the red-haired woman standing between the two jokesters. Hermione stared, tears welling from her eyes, into the familliar hazel eyes of Molly Weasley née Prewett and let the tears fall. Without thinking, the lonely girl stepped closer to the woman and wrapped her hands about the woman who already smelled of home-cooking, cinnamon, and freshly-cut grass. A sob broke forth from her lips, and she clutched the woman who had filled in as magical mother to her all those years. Harsh breathing and wracking sobs quickly followed her initial breakdown and she held on to Molly as though she were the last link to life Hermione had; in a way she was.

Alastor Moody's gruff voice cut through the stunned gathering in clipped tones, "Gideon, ye blighter. I don't think it was yer ugly gob that had our girl swooning, boy."

* * *

Molly handled the breakdown with the grace only a mother could have. She quickly sought out a chair and settled into it, pulling the woman only ten years her junior into her lap as though she were only five years old. "There, there, dearie. Let it all out, that's right, and then we'll get everything sorted and you'll be right as rain. I promise you, all will be well. Hush there, child, you just cry it all out. I've got you now, you don't have to worry. I've got you, and I won't let you go. You're safe now, dear. Hush, hush." Molly crooned other soothing words to the poor woman huddled on her lap, smoothing her hands over her hair, or trailing her fingers tenderly across her back. Soon her sobs subsided to whimpers and hiccoughs, before they disappeared completely. Molly still rubbed her back soothingly, and helped her to sit up. Hermione glanced down at the teary mess she had turned Molly's dress into and bit her lip, remorse flooding her. "Don't you worry one whit about this dress, dear. You needed that cry, and I've charmed it to repel stains, seeing as my boys are always getting something on me." The young mother did a quick drying charm. "There, you see, right as rain, like I told you." Molly lovingly tucked a strand of loose hair behind the stranger's ear. "Now, can you tell me what's wrong,dear?"

Hermone looked at the only link she had to her old life, not noticing the stares of that link's brothers, husband, who had joined the group in the room sometime during the tear maelstorm after leaving his sons with one of Dorea's maids, or fellow Order members, and sadly shook her head. Dorea cleared her throat, attracting the attention of every member of the room. "Our young guest has been my charge these past few days. She had been tortured, and was nearly dead when I got to her. One of the ills I was unable to reverse was her voice. At some point during her torture her vocal chords shredded. She is mute."

Hermione's gaze stayed locked on the dress Molly was wearing, taking in the fineness of the material and the newness of its appearance. Guilt over thoughtlessly almost ruining one of Molly's gifts from Arthur. She recognized the dress as one from a picture of Molly and Arthur shortly after the birth of Percy. Arthur had given the dress to her the day their third son was born. Molly used to dust the silver frame of the picture and gaze lovingly at the young couple in the photograph who hadn't yet had all the children they would. Arthur had given her a gift at each of the children's births -two when Fred and George came along- and she would have never forgiven herself if she had destroyed one of the tender gestures between her psuedoparents.

Molly made a shallow exclamation and pulled the girl back to her, tightly embracing her, as though her hug could shut away all the horrors of the world. Hermione smiled as she let herself be mollycoddled by a master. This was home.

* * *

Albus arrived by Floo some time after everyone had calmed down, starting the meeting with pleasant greetings and participated in idle banter for all of five minutes before politely asking Charlus to introduce him to their guest. Charlus grinned and gently moved Hermione to stand before him. "Albus, allow me to introduce you to the newest member of our household, Miss Esmerelde Adhara Finn, whom I understand prefers the shortened 'Mer. Mer, this is Albus Dumbledore, full of titles, and fond of lemons."

Hermione gave a smile and stuck her uninjured arm out in front of her to have her hand taken and shaken by her late headmaster. Idly she realized she was grateful to have sobbed her heart out into Molly's dress, so that she had girded herself for the encounter with her much younger and quite vivacious, dead headmaster. If she hadn't already, she would have lost it.

The man in swirling purple robes reached out and grasped her hand fimly in his own, but surprised her by not shaking it and instead planting a soft kiss to the back of it. Too startled by the action to pay attention, she missed the first half of what he said, and only heard, "...-ome to join Charlus' household? I understand he maintains the strictest of interviewing processes. Ad in the daily, perhaps? Rejected the young Mister Black's advances? Friend of a friend?"

Unable to answer, Hermione just shook her head, impossible thoughts filling her head. She looked up to find herself absconced with only the doting headmaster for company and no means of answering his many questions. She looked up desperately, eyes coming to rest on Alastor's face. She smiled tentatively at him, beckoning him over with one hand. Dumbldore looked in the direction of the Auror headed towards them, eyes parkling mischieviously. "Ah, Alastor, my lad, how are you? I was just inquiring to Miss Finn here as to how she joined the Potter household."

"Dorea was given care of her after an attack," Alastor summarized gruffly. "Miss Finn lost her powers of speech, and probably called me over to cease yer incessant questioning. Leave the witch to her own mind, Headmaster. She has no means at present to answer yer questions. Allow her some parchment and a quill, perhaps, else ye'll have no answers, old man." Alastor then stood beside Hermione for the remainder of the night, having elected himself her translator for the night. Once Albus had stepped away from the pair for a moment, Alastor turned to hermione and asked, "Miss Finn, do ye mind me stepping in and speaking yer turn? I can of course step back if ye wish; I only thought to help."

Hermione grinnned, endeared by the man so familliar to her memory of his future self, nodded and tucked her uninjured hand into the crook of his elbow. She stepped up on her toes and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. She pulled her hand away, took the parchment and quill he had gathered for her and scribbled:

_You can call me Mer, Alastor. And your speaking for me has been my saving grace this evening. Thank you._

Hermione bit back a giggle as the Scottish Auror flushed a Weasley red, and harumphed in a very manly fashion. "Certainly, Mis - Mer. No trouble at all." His hand lifted from his side, stretching towards her purple scar, but fell back, leaving her flesh untouched. He abruptly faced away from her, clearly awkward, but he lifted his elbow for her to slide her hand back into. She accepted his offer of his arm, and with it his friendship, with a satisfied smile.

* * *

"I want to thank you all for coming and would like to call into order the second meeting of our ragtag bunch of concerned citizens. Hear, hear." All Dumbledore needed was a muggle gqvel, Hermione thought absently, mind spinning with a thousand potential pieces of information she could share. _But how do I tell them? How much do I tell them? Will saying one thing now irrevocably change the future, or permanently cement it?_ Responses and queries flew about her head like Cornish pixies in her second year Defense classroom.

She listened as each member of the unestablished Order of the Pheonix passed information and statistics back and forth, catalouging the rise in Muggle and muggleborn dissapearances in recent weeks. Hermione stared at each member as they spoke, giving her full attention to their information, indexing each new grain of knowledge into her memory's indelible files, tracing what connections she could between what she remembered from the future and what was new to her from the past.

She turned with the company to face Charlus when it was his turn to speak. He was looking right at her. "Mer. I am going to talk about your attack; if you would like to step aside for a bit, we would allunderstand." The words were spoken kindly and with the best of intetions, but Hermione bristled under them. Her hands flew quickly over her parchment, which was passed to Mr. Potter in short order, who read the words aloud, "_If I have survived the actions themselves, surely speaking of it and planning to stop it will harm me little enough. I will stay here, and be of what use I can_." He smiled over at her. "Of course, Mer." He turned and began to detail what had happened to the young witch, whose bravery moved her standing up a measured notch in the view of some of the gathered company, including the snarly wizard at her right.

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: I hope you are all enjoying this. Here's the next chapter. By the way, still a bit uncertain with whom I will pair our beloved bookworm. Poll is now available on my profile! Thank you. (Special thanks to my Beta Starcrescentmoon for pointing out the existing spelling errors!)

Disclaimer: "The Land of Waking" poem by Hermione is actually my own. Dibs. That being said, mostly everything you read here... sigh... I cannot legally claim.

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

Hermione paid as much attention as she could to every detail of the meeting, volunteering to take the minutes, since she had to write anyway. Besides, that would make it easier to make a copy for herself to compare with her recollection of her original timeline. _Why had Moody, Sirius, Molly, or Arthur, or anyone not said anything to me? Did none of them remember me as Mer? Or, at least, not make the connection? But I don't even recall hearing about a Mer... Will my being here mean there is a new timeline, or should I devote myself to maintaining that wretched thing? Could I even really do that?_

Charlus interrupted her musings by concluding the meeting with his well-wishes for everyone, and the invitation to an end-of-the-holidays supper in the formal dining room. Hermione excused herself to return to her bed, not lying in the slightest when she used the excuse of a headache. Dorea looked a bit concerned, and Moody's roving eye never left her form, probably even after she left the room.

She changed into a flannel gown that reminded her of Molly's old one, and curled up in her borrowed bed. She chased her thoughts around in her mind before falling into a tortured sleep.

* * *

Her hands sifted the sand, draining the fine, rough grains through her parted fingers. Trapped within her glass chamber, she could see all her friends-though they seemed less and less real and more ghoulish, or-at turns-less alive.

She watched Remus and Nymphadora fall, defending each other. She watched one of the twins collapse under a wall. She saw Harry try to save Professor Snape. She saw Harry use a pensieve. She saw Ron enter the Chamber of Secrets. She saw Harry cornered by Voldemort.

Then everything went a vivid green.

* * *

"Help! Someone help!" The shouts woke both Lord and Lady Potter, who took off at a run to the young girl's room.

"Mer!" Dorea called out, worried for the girl.

Padded footfalls echoed through the hallways as the witch and wizard raced into the small guest room. Their young visitor was trashing madly about on her bed, mouth open in a silent, gaping scream. Andrea had her hands firmly restraining the young witch from injuring herself, and was shouting for aid. Charlus stepped forward and instantly restrained the thrashing legs tangled in the bed sheets, while Dorea hurried to soothe the young, trembling hands stroking around the angry purple scar.

It took several moments to wake the girl, and then to soothe her. Dorea ushered the young girl into the kitchen while Charlus and Andrea went to the supply room to get a Calming Draught. Dorea set the young girl in a chair, and touched the tip of her wand to the wick of the red candle on the tabletop. Hermione became quickly fascinated by the flame before her.

It looked like a candle, but a strange one. The flame gutted and died, then flared to life again, breathing out into air a spark of life larger than it had consumed before. It seemed fitting somehow, that she was so completely focused on the flame of the candle on the countertop. She never moved her gaze, even when a large barn owl hooted from the nearby open window.

Charlus returned, having sent Andrea to her own room for the night, and passed Hermione the potion. Hermione drank it reflexively, visibly calming as it worked its magic on her.

Dorea passed a small biscuit to the bird, accepting the parcel in its claws. Flipping it over, she saw large, letters in a determined scrawl sketching out Miss Esmerelde Finn, Potter Manor. Dorea laid the parcel in front of the young witch, where it went unnoticed.

"We can give you Dreamless Sleep potions if you like. And I'm certain I can find a journal for you somewhere, so you can spill whatever is weighing down your heart, dearie. If you ever want to show what's in there to Charlus or myself, we'd be more than honored to help you, but some things are better left tucked into journals, I think, left to be forgotten. Just... Just know we want to help you, Mer, in any way we can. You said you've lost your family. I'm not asking you to let us replace them, but we would like to make you a part of our family, if you would let us."

The couple went over to the stove, making tea together while Hermione stared at the package she had just realized was there. Fumbling with the paper a bit, she eventually got it open. Lying inside the paper was a magnificent mahogany box, a little larger than a wand box from Ollivander's would be. She touched the tiny latch, flicking it to the left, and lifted the lid. nestled on ruby colored velvet was a set of several replacement nibs- all in silver- a small pot of self-replenishing ink, and the most beutiful quill she had ever seen. Lying on the snow-white feather was a scrap of parchment, which bore a single line of script.

_Mer, for when I cannot translate what you need to say. Alastor_

She smiled at the simple message, feeling one of the aches in her heart easing a touch. Her finger traced over the soft gift and she let a few tears fall from her face, the first she had cried for those she had lost. But then, she had so much to gain.

* * *

Narcissa waited patiently at the entrance to the boys dormotories until Lucius and Antonin emerged. She tucked her hand into the crook of her beau's elbow, rubbing her thumb along the back of his arm tenderly, a hidden gesture of her support. Lucius smiled a little bit, leaned his head closer to her and simply kissed her forehead. As they made their way to their first class of the day, choosing to forgo breakfast, both thought back to the night they had fallen for each other.

_Theory of Classical Language as an Origin and Vehicle of Magic in Spell-Casting_

Narcissa sat back, quill idling in her fingers, sighing. _Well, now my essay has a title and a rough, working thesis. Now to find some sources to reference… I believe Heinrich's __Philosophy of Charms__ was over in the fifth row…_

Lucius stood in the last row of the bookshelves, known to the students as The Stacks—where boys took girls to snog, or some of the more adventurous (usually Gryffindor) or reckless (usually Slytherin) boys would take their girlfriends for a quick, rough shag—thinking idly on his latest Potions assignment and his plans after graduating from Hogwarts that May. A painful sigh escaped him;_ life has gotten so mind-achingly dull. I don't give a ruddy damn about what I'll do. Probably enter the ministry at a level only a hop, skip, and a jump from father's elevated position, and then spend the rest of my life making more money than I can spend on myself._ Of course, at some point along this journey of life, Lucius expected to wed a proper pureblood wife, produce an heir, and continue the lauded Malfoy line. But the thought merely sickened him more; with the exception of his darling mother, every pureblood woman he had met was a worthless bint whose mind was only wrapped about whose pocket was deeper and how to show up her girlfriends. Lucius mentally groaned, but girded himself and focused once more on the task at hand: finding the instructions for the Pensieve Potion Slughorn had assigned in class earlier that day. Fingers finally lighting on Most Potente Potions and figuring it was his best bet, Lucius dragged the book from the shelf and walked over to the nearest table, setting his school bag and the text neatly on the wooden space.

He settled into his seat, back towards the wall—Slytherins were hardly stupid creatures—and took spare parchment, a quill, and ink from his bag. He flipped open the text just as a loud crash came from a few rows before the stacks. He made out the sound of several hurried footsteps running from the scene, but saw no one. Straining to hear once more, wand out and at the ready, he heard a slight, female whimper. Deciding to investigate—after all, if it were a Slytherin, or a particularly gifted Ravenclaw, he had better aid her as best he could, since neither was his enemy. And if it were a Gryffindor, well he could glory in her torment, unless the victim were a firstie. Then, as Head Boy, he would have to help her; his duty required it. Sighing, he rose from his chair and walked down several rows until he came across the victim.

A cascade of blonde ringlets pooled around a gentle face overwhelmed by two downcast, blue eyes. Her slender hands were clutching the bookshelf behind her and gathering the spilled texts around her into a neater pile. Her distress was obvious in her panicked breathing and darting gaze; the most telling sign was neither of these, but rather the manner in which she froze when he approached, as though she expected to be assaulted once more. Uncertain of how to approach someone for the first time in his life, he whispered, "How can I help?"

She looked up at him, and the moment her blue eyes burned into his, he was lost. Narcissa's heart was quick to follow.

* * *

Remus Lupin felt like crying. Sirius and James had filled Peter and him in on their guest, and the extent of her injuries. Remus had immediately gone into the nearest bathroom to throw up. Unfortunately it had been the girl's loo, but given his state, and since he was considered the most well-behaved of their troublesome quartet, the three girls -two Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw- who had been within didn't say except to promise not to anything to anyone.

He couldn't imagine himself- even though he already was rather violently scarred- being so tortured, losing everyone he loved, and still being strong enough to face the day with hope. He felt little enough of the emotion, and he had somehow managed to be the first werewolf (covertly, but he wasn't complaining) to ever attend Hogwarts. His heart went out to the young woman, perhaps a few years his senior, who had gone through more than even he had, and had come out stronger for her pain.

Perhaps, he could do the same.

* * *

Hermione twirled the beautiful quill in her hand, fondling the gift for a moment, before setting it's shiny, silver nub into the swirling ink. Trimming the quill she set the tip to her vellum-like parchment and began writing. She decided to begin with a poem, one she had written one summer while thinking over her times with her boys at Hogwarts; every summer felt like she had woken from a strange dream; compared with the danger, excitement and truth that breathed in every moment at the magical castle her Muggle life seemed so tragically ordinary, but just what she needed somehow, like a medicinal dose. She had never shown it to Ron, but asked Harry if he felt the same when he went back to the Dursley's each summer. He had smiled and said, "But, then, you've always had a knack for reading what I mean when I don't say anything, and wording it so much more beautifully than I ever could. This is exactly perfect, 'Mione. Thank you." She scratched the words down now, fighting tears as the memory lapped at her, insistent as undertow.

_Once upon a time and far, far away, this place is truer because it's impossible to touch; a place you can always visit, but never stay; compared to the land of dreams, the land of waking isn't much._

Hermione sighed and shifted a tendril of hair out her line of sight. Setting aside her emotions, Hermione began to catalog what pertinent facts she recalled about the first war against Voldemort. She started with its end on October 31, 1981.

Several hours later, Hermione put the new quill down, stretching and massaging her aching fingers and wrists. She stacked the pile of parchments, wrapped them in a bit of twine she found in the drawer of the writing desk and bound all the pages. She pulled her wand from its holster on her forearm and cast a spell to prevent prying eyes from reading her notes, before tucking them into the trunk at the foot of her bed, a "welcome-to-the-family" gift from Molly and Arthur. Recalling just how much she was relying on the charity of those around her, who didn't yet know of their great friendship with her, and she immediately determined to pen a thank-you note to them. After composing quick notes to the young Weasley boys, thanking them for their small part in the gift—Charlie had included a drawing of a red dragon, which made her smile, Bill included a book of logic puzzles he loved, but had already solved, and Molly had taken a mold of Percy's little feet—before she penned her thanks to their parents:

_Molly and Arthur, You have no idea just how much your generosity and your instant inclusion of myself within your family means to me. I can never express just how touched I am, but I want you to know that I will always hold your family as mine, and will do everything I can to defend and protect you and yours. Give the boys my love, and tell them Aunt Mer will be writing a story book for each of them. Let you little artists know they can illustrate the books for me and that I know an animation charm I can instill into the book upon completion so that the pictures will move and read the story aloud. All my love, Mer_

Satisfied, she tucked her missive into a large envelope and set it off to the side. Readjusting her position in her chair, Hermione pulled a second sheet of parchment closer and began a thank-you not to Alastor for his lovely gift of the quill; knowing that man, she was certain it was also charmed to either alert dangerous presences or prevent some sort of curse or dark jinx from being set upon the bearer. With a grin she began:

_Mister Moody, I wanted to express my gratitude for the gift of the quill, which I'm certain holds some prudent protection charms, but more importantly for your support and understanding the other day. Not many understand that while traumatic experiences weaken the body for a time, they strengthen the will. The world belongs to the vigilant and the survivors. I hope we will continue to work together and become strong friends. Constant vigilance, my friend, Esmerelde Finn_

Hermione was satisfied with her letter, having at first been uncertain of how to address her not-quite professor and current should-be stranger. But once she jumped that stumbling block, everything fell right into place, as though slots had been waiting in the parchment. Perhaps his quill helped with that as well.

Hermione tucked the letters into a small bag so she could carry them to the owlery the following morning before she tucked herself into bed. She had a rather big day ahead of her tomorrow.

* * *

SNEAK PEEK!

Minerva's panicked voice choked out, "But what do we say? How do we get the Ministry to listen to us? They themselves have brushed the very evidence we are using under the rug, and ignored the blatant truth. What can we say to convince them of the gravity of the situation? What do we say?" Minerva turned pleading eyes to all of her companions, tears glinting behind her square spectacles.

Hermione flicked her wand in a graceful swish, startling her companions as gold dust streamed from the tip and began forming letters that floated in midair: _Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes_. Alastor reacted first, with a throaty chuckle and the affirming murmur, "Attagirl, Mer."

* * *

Please take the time to leave a review! They mean so much to me and I promise to take the time to reply to each one!


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: So, Poll is still up, and so far, only seven votes, two for Fabian, one for Gideon, one for Sirius, one for Remus, one for Severus, and the other for Alastor. Come on, people, I want your thoughts! Not that I haven't already written a bit of it, but come on!

Disclaimer: How many ways can I say no? How about in the lost language of flat-out lies: YES! I DO OWN IT! :)

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

Andromeda raced through the air, spinning her broomstick into a roll, laughing as she evaded the capture of Teddy Tonks, her best friend and fellow Ravenclaw. "Catch me if you can, Chaser!"

"Oi, Keeper, you're asking for it!" The Ravenclaw shot ahead, evading her housemate for half the length of the pitch and then she couldn't see him anymore. She looked to her left and right, but he wasn't there. She looked down and behind her, but no such luck. She checked above her, but as she went to look back in front of her, she crashed headlong into the very prat she had been looking for, sending them both careening towards the field below. She grabbed onto him with both hands, letting go of her broom, and he yanked her closer to him, gripping his broom between his knees. Once his arms were around her, he pulled out of the sharp dive, lowering them slowly to the ground.

"Every time, Andy. Every time. You know I've always been right in front of you, so why do you look there last?" Teddy pulled her closer to him, sighing. "Are you alright? You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Andy shook her head, brunette curls flying in all directions. Teddy grinned, tucking her curls back up into her snowcap. Andy smiled, air painting her cheeks a becoming pink. "Thanks for catching me, Ted." She moved to stand and go pull her broom from where it had planted itself in the field.

Teddy stood to the side, eyes never leaving her, and whispered, "Every time, Andy. I'll always be right in front of you. You just need to look."

* * *

Potter was quiet and had been since he got back from winter hols. A quiet Potter was never a good thing, and I decided to take matters into my own hands when things didn't change after a full week of classes. "Potter, follow me." He looked up at me, surprised that I was not only talking to him, but was asking him to come somewhere with me so we could talk more. It must have startled him enough that he followed me immediately and without question. I didn't stop walking until we got halfway up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

I dropped my school bag to the step and turned to face him. "Potter. What is wrong with you? Not that I'm complaining about the lack of your pranks losing us points, but you and Black and Remus are all moping about like the world has ended. What's happened, Potter? And you had better tell me, or so help me, I will hex your balls into last week."

He grimaced at the end, but I was desperate. What could have changed the three most carefree boys in our year to act as though Honeyduke's had closed down. "Lils, it's something where I'm not allowed to tell you everything. It's just…" His eyes looked so hurt, and he set his bag down next to mine.

I was too stunned to move when his arms wrapped around me, holding me like the most fragile piece of glass he had ever held. "Please promise me you'll be careful, Lily. Bad things have been happening lately and it would just kill me if anything happened to you. Lily, there are some dark wizards that have been capturing and torturing muggleborns." His arms squeezed tightly around me, as though something was trying to rip me away. "Please be careful, Lily." I felt a breath of warmth on my cheek just before his lips ghosted against mine. My eyes must have closed during the kiss because when I came back to myself, I couldn't see a thing. It took me a full moment to realize they were closed, and when I opened them, Potter was gone.

* * *

The green glare of the activated Floo warned Abraxas of his visitor seconds before the Head of the DMLE stepped out into his study. "Ah, Darlington, how are you? Come, sit. Can I get you a drink? No? Well, then take a seat, and tell me what news have you found about my wife?"

Carey Darlington sat stiffly on the imported Knacker-back wool woven threads that covered the divan Lord Malfoy had indicated he sit on. This was going to be the toughest assignment he'd tackled in his longstanding career; but one wasn't made Head of the DMLE for dodging hexes. So, he girded his strength and ploughed ahead. "Lord Malfoy, we have been searching for your wife for ten days now and have had no ransom or notice of any kind. We haven't had any sorts of clues regarding her whereabouts at all. The Department for the Misuse of Magic has been watching her wand and magical signature, in case any sign came from that quarter, but we have found nothing. The lack of magical report leaves me with two possibilities: either she is staying at a place where magical wards are strong enough to deflect our tracking system, such as Gringott's or Hogwarts, or she is dead."

Darlington never once moved his eyes from Lord Malfoy's, rightfully afraid of the effect this news might have on him. What he did not expect was to see a rick appear under the man's left eye. It was gone within seconds, but it had been there. Darlington schooled his face into a condolent mask, asking if there was any way in which the DMLE could assist Lord Malfoy in his time of grief, just send an owl and they would see to it, as best they could.

"And that would hardly be enough, now would it? After all, you cannot manage to find a single woman." Abraxas' voice spat like fiery venom, causing Darlington to flinch. "She is not dead; I would know it. Until you bring me proof that she is dead, I shall not believe your drivel."

"But, Lord Malfoy—"

"Get out of my home. Now."

Darlington knew when his goose was cooked and needed to be removed from the heat. So he nodded to the man who practically owned the Ministry and Flooed back to his office.

He walked from the main lobby of the Ministry where the Floos were kept and took the elevator to the third floor. He paused at his secretary's desk and asked her to grab her quick quotes quill and meet him in his office. _Malfoy knew something and wasn't sharing it. But what? Had he been contacted for ransom? Had his wife let him know she was leaving him? What would he know about her disappearance that he wouldn't want to share with the Ministry? It's not as though he had kidnapped her himself, was it?_

* * *

"Second defensive line break off into the Hippogriff formation and advance, hexing the training simulacrums as you move. If you are struck by a debilitating hex, stay in place and do squats until the end of the exercise. If the hexes which do manage to land on your person are not debilitating move on." Aided by a Sonorus charm, Head Auror Pince was easily heard by all the Aurors and their trainees. "Remember, this is a partnered exercise. Defend your partner, and complete your tasks. Team Broxley, your task is to break through the opposing line of defense. Once that task is accomplished Team Hicks will then secure the perimeter. Team Moody will secure the package, and Team Humperdinck will then cover the retreat. Any questions? Good. Begin."

The lights dimmed to almost nothing.

Broxley and his trainee Undershoe headed forward, wands busy deflecting various hexes, leading the other six Aurors through the offensive line of dark wizard simulacrums. A nasty green hex flew over Undershoe's head, barely jumping the spiked black hair topping his nearly 2 meter frame. His left hand reached behind him, dragging Broxley down to a squat as they ducked another hex, this one vivid purple with silver sparks. Up again and they were running in a crisscrossing zigzag pattern. At the offensive line they halted, disabling all the simulacrums that made up the line. Broxley waved the other teams through.

Taking the lead, Hicks and his trainee White ran the perimeter, eliminating any hidden threats or protective measures. As each was running back from opposite ends of the line, White cried out, drawing every head to look his way. A large silver trap had opened up around his legs, binding him physically and magically. Hicks double-checked White's half of the perimeter deemed it secure and waved the last two teams on. Hicks squatted down by White, determining the extent of his 'injuries' and how to remove him from the trap.

Broxley and Undershoe began doing rotations of the perimeter, maintaining the security while Hicks healed the wounds of his trainee. Moody and his trainee Monroe cycled through the 'rooms' looking for both the package and any lurking dark wizards. In the last room they found both. After dodging curses and incapacitating the four wizards, Moody turned and faced the pedestal on which rested the package.

It was a lumpy package, probably a bunch of apples, knowing Pince, to be set on the trainees heads later and hexed off with slicing hexes by the Aurors—a trust-building exercise. However, the trainees could not do the same to their partnered Auror until they had passed through the first seven weeks of training, and even then, if the Auror felt the trainee wasn't ready, he could refuse.

Moody turned his magical eye to gauging any potential hexes on the package, and noted three of them. He stepped forward to dismantle them, but Monroe seeing his Auror moved forward, believed the package to be harmless and stepped forward, grabbing it with both hands.

A scream split the air of the training arena, and Monroe fell to the floor, hands stinging from the violence of the combination created by the simple stinging, bruising, and heating charms. Monroe moved to being doing the squats, and looked steadily at the floor, not meeting Moody's gaze. Moody clenched his jaw and stepped forward, removing the hexes from the package before lifting it with a spell. He turned and allowed Auror Humperdinck and his trainee Dover guide him back out, leaving them to handle any attacks or ambushes on the way out. Broxley, Undershoe, Hicks, and the released White joined the exiting trio, moving in Death's cloak formation until they reached the 'apparition point. Waiting until the lights came back up to move.

The lights came up and Moody rested the package onto the table Broxley had transfigured a handkerchief into. Monroe moved out from within the target, fully healed now that the exercise was up. Moody glanced at him, before nodding to Pince and exiting the room. Monroe glumly looked at the floor beneath his feet, knowing he'd be transferred to another Auror.

Everyone knew Moody wouldn't take on trainees who couldn't survive a simple training exercise, especially since this was the final week of training. He sighed and wouldn't meet the eyes of the other trainees as they headed over to Pince, ready to have their every move analyzed in a modified Pensieve.

* * *

Molly tucked the last dish into the soapy water and with a flick of her wand, sent it over to the magiked dish rag to begin drying it. Arthur had come home early that day, and was wrestling with his two oldest sons in the living room. She smiled at the shrieks and giggles she heard from her boys and the grunts and deeper chuckles from her husband. Merlin, but she loved that man! She plucked Percy from his magical high chair and wiped his face with a soft, wet rag. "And how's my little man, hmm, Percy? Do you want to go and join your dad and brothers in their fight?" The baby's face pulled into a blank expression as he considered his mother's words and then screwed up into a squall as he cried at his mother. "Well, fine then, dear, you don't have to. After all, I wouldn't have let you at this size, anyhow. But let's check on them shall we? Make sure they're not causing any trouble, hmm?" She raised an eyebrow at her youngest son, who quickly stopped crying as she bounced him a bit in her arms. "Alright then, let's go." And she carried him into the living room, where an epic battle was commencing.

Arthur had little Charlie tackling his legs, battling both at once with a devoted ferocity, while Bill was launching himself at his father's head. He missed and landed with a thump on Arthur's chest, causing them both to gasp for air. During which time, Charlie wisely wrapped his little body around both of his father's legs, finally trapping them. "I win! I win! I win! Billy, we beat Dad! We win! We win! We win!"

Molly laughed at her boys, and said, "Well of course you won. There's two of you, and only one of him. Now come over here and keep an eye on Percy while I help you poor dad up." She laid a blanket out on the floor and settled Percy onto it, as his older brothers rushed over and began making faces at him to entertain him. She moved over to where Arthur laid, still a bit winded, on the floor and reached an arm down to him. Smiling, she pulled him up to stand with her and his arms wrapped around her, squeezing gently.

"Mollywobbles," he whispered in her ear, causing her to smile up at him with a whole different sort of smile. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, thankful every day that she had eloped with this man.

"Mu-um, Charlie's hogging Percy!"

Molly laughed, and extricated herself from Arthur's touch, moving over to her young sons. "Come on now, lads. He's your brother, there's plenty of him for all of us." Molly scooped the child in question into her arms, and reached down to pat Bill's head.

A bright yellow light flooded the clearing, followed by several shouts.

Molly's head flew up, eyes locking with Arthur's. "GO!" he shouted, turning to defend the door of their home. Molly grabbed little Charlie's hand, tucked Percy closer to her and headed to the cellar door, Bill's hands fisted in her skirt.

She hurriedly ran down the stairs with her boys and opened a small hidden door. Inside was a twin size bed and a small crib, with some bottles, diapers, and other foodstuffs. She tucked Percy into his crib and settled Bill and Charlie onto the bed. "Now, boys, you've got to be quiet, understand. Bill, you're in charge. You both need to take care of Percy until I get back, alright? I love you both so, so much." She kissed each of them on the head, pulling them into a tight hug. "Now remember, absolutely silent." She hurriedly kissed little Percy's feet, and left the small room.

She closed and locked the door, hiding it with a few concealing charms. She turned and ran up the stairs, to help Arthur defend their home from the attack.

* * *

E/N: Please review, and please check out the poll on my profile! Thanks!


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: SO! A flurry of votes on the poll! I'll be keeping it up for a bit longer, just to see. Now as I've told someone, I have already decided who to pair her with, I am just using this as a survey of sorts. If I get enough votes for a few individuals, I will write oneshots for those voters. (So, vote!)

Disclaimer: If this were mine, I would not need a disclaimer. So, by its existence, it both defines and defies its necessity.

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

Hermione twirled her wand through her fingers, desperate to be physically doing something constructive. She had compiled a list of all the attacks and Order work since 1991, as well as important past dates, such as the attack on the Prewett twins, and any other important dates she could think of. While trying to come up with a way to give the Order this information and at the same time introduce the Order to its true enemy. But she couldn't think of anything just focusing on it for hours. She needed to be_ doing_ something, and if she couldn't be of much help here, she wanted to help out at home. Her second home.

Hermione wandered around Potter Manor until she found Dorea with Andrea stocking the potions cabinet. "Yes, Mer? What can I help you with?"

Hermione twirled her wand in the air, shaping golden letters between them. _I'd like to visit Molly, if I could._

Dorea smiled. "Of course, Mer. Just give me a moment to finish up here. And then I'll side-along apparate you. I don't want you Flooing and getting soot in your throat while the wound is still open. I can meet you in the den in a few minutes. Go grab anything you wanted to bring. I believe the boys are rather fond of candied plums, if you want to grab some from the kitchen. I'll send Andrea down to the kitchens to set them aside, before she heads over to visit her Argus."

Hermione paused halfway out the door. She turned back to Dorea and mouthed, "Argus?"

Dorea nodded, smiling at Andrea, who walked past Hermione with a quiet chuckle. "Yes, Argus. Argus Filch, the caretaker at Hogwarts. Andrea met Argus when she came with us the first time James got into a spot of trouble at school. She and Argus fell head over heels that very first time. But, they each only just realized it. His birthday is coming up soon, and she wanted to surprise him with a gift. Any ideas?"

Hermione stared blankly at Dorea Potter, trying to picture the antisocial, class-a creep that was the squib Argus Filch, Caretaker of Hogwarts in love. It just wasn't a picture she thought she could handle. The only thing he'd ever loved was that darn cat of his. She shrugged at Dorea and spelled, _Perhaps a cat?_ in her golden script.

Dorea gasped, "Oh! That's just the thing! Be sure to give Andrea the idea when you get the plums from her!"

Hermione nodded, still a bit dazed at the idea of Argus Filch in love. But, she supposed it happened to everyone at some point. She had thought maybe with Ron, but he and his thimbleful of emotional comprehension would have her climbing the walls inside of a week. And Viktor, back in fourth year only wanted her because she didn't want his fame, but it hadn't lasted because she hadn't wanted him either.

* * *

Molly ran out the front door, wand shooting out a blanket Protego, which rebounded the first two jinxes but she had to duck to void getting caught by the third. The fourth caught on the ends of her hair, but she put out the fire with a hasty Augmenti. Arthur was standing a few meters away, dueling with two wizards. Three more had come around the bend of the house and were closing in quickly. She reached out to Arthur and pressed closer to his side, standing ready to fight with him to defend their home and children.

* * *

Gideon sat at the table in the cafeteria of the Aurors' training building, waiting for Fabian to finish chatting with a leggy blonde named Cassiopeia from the Department of Something Obscenely Stupid and Ridiculously Long-Winded. He idly picked at his chips, wanting to talk with his twin about Mer, or more specifically, how he felt about Mer. _Merlin's saggy left bollock, I'm in over my head with her. How do I even approach her, since I'd always thought I would have girl who could joke back? I mean, not that I don't want her, and not that she couldn't tease me, but… And she's gone through so much and is just so strong… Bloody hell, I'm lost. AND, Molly loves her like a sister already. _Gideon let out a long sigh, and considered planting his forehead painfully onto the table.

"Oi, I wasn't gone that long was I?" Fabian grinned at him from across the table, where he was spinning his chair around so he could straddle the seat, facing the back of it to the table. "What's eating you, mate?" Fabian scooped a large handful of his twin's chips and crammed them into his mouth, dribbling vinegar all down his chin. He hissed through his mouthful, spitting a few pieces onto the surface of the table and reached for a napkin to wipe the hot liquid from his jaw.

"And that's why I'm the good-looking, suave twin. No, it's about Mer. Fay, I really like this girl. I could see forever with her, changing nappies, bickering children, and hormonal teenagers, late-night fights, long kisses, waking up together, and sitting together by the fire, just sitting."

Fabian took a huge gulp of his pumpkin juice and coughed. "Damn, you're getting serious about her. We have only just met her."

"But that's just it, I've only just met her, and suddenly I don't look twice at other women. Molly has already adopted her as a sister and I just… I don't know how to do what I want to do. I've never been this serious about anyone, Fay…"

Fabian eyed his brother, watching him idle with the watch on his wrist, the one he had given him for graduation, and that matched the one he had received from Gideon. In the Wizarding world, when a boy graduated, he was given a wristwatch by his father or other male family member as a "welcome-to-manhood" kind of gesture. Since their father had died when they were younger, the twins had decided to get each other the watches, and had planned a very special design together. Each watch had two faces. The first told real time, but when the face was flipped over, a very different kind of clock was visible. Instead of the three basic hands, six hands with smiling faces stared up at the wearer. Molly, Arthur, their three sons, and the other twin were on each Weasley Watch, pointing at, not numbers, but places such as Work, Home, Hogwarts, or the more frightening, Lost, Sick, Danger, or Mortal Peril. It had taken their greatest effort in Charms class ever, but when they had shown the watches to Professor Flitwick, he told them they didn't need to sit their N.E.W.T.s if they didn't want to. They hadn't wanted to and it was the first O given without testing in the history of Hogwarts. "Gid… Calm down. We don't know much about her—,"

Both men grimaced and flipped over the faces on their watches as a burning sensation shot up their arms to their hearts. Every hand that didn't belong to a twin shifted from 'Home' to 'Mortal Peril'.

"Bloody hell!" Fabian whispered before disapparating.

"Shit," Gideon's heart and stomach switched places as he followed his brother.

* * *

Hermione tucked the last thing into her purse and slid the strap up over her shoulder. Ready to go, she moved into the living room, eager to see what the Burrow looked like at this point. Ron, Ginny, and the twins all had rooms at the very top, so those rooms probably didn't exist yet. She moved closer to the hearth, studying the moving pictures that stood on the mantle, occupants waving at her. The center two pictures were each of James. The larger one was of him and Sirius opening gifts under a mammoth tree, joking and laughing as they stuck bows in their hair and tossed magical wrapping paper at each other, watching it quickly move to wrap them up, only to be torn off again. The smaller frame had a moving snapshot of toddler James taking his first few tottering steps, arms stretched towards the camera, goofy, two-toothed grin spread across his face.

She grinned, fingers playing along the edge of the wooden frames, which baby James reached for greedily. She heard a soft chuckle behind her and turned to see Dorea standing with a small basket of fruit and pastries on her arm, wand in hand. "He was so adorable, wasn't he? Are you ready to go?" Hermione nodded and stepped forward to take Dorea's free hand. She cringed, closing her eyes, bracing herself for the painful sensation that always accompanied a side-along apparition.

And true to form, a painful tugging, like gritty sandpaper roughening all her skin, from her eyelids to her ticklish toes, and then it felt like she was being pulled apart into a million threads before being quickly tossed back together. She blinked, seeing Arthur Weasley, her magical father, hit by a white spell to the shoulder, collapse to the ground, and then she saw Molly screaming and running to him. Dorea's grip on her arm tightened before loosening entirely.

* * *

Please Review, it helps me to update faster!


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: So, poll results are in; only 20 voters. :( BUT, Y'all picked my leading man, so kudos to you! And the three who tied for second place are: Remus, Sirius, and Severus. Those oneshots will be coming, and are separate from the new poll now available on my profile. I promise to post in my AN once those are up. BTW, that new poll on my profile, related to a future fic, is silently begging you to please stop by and vote. I am begging too. These are two of the voices in your head. I cannot explain the rest. Apologies.

Warning: This chapter is very decidedly M. If you do not feel comfortable with graphic torture and death scenes, I will have to ask you to leave. I have tried to keep this within the statutes of what my barely seventeen year old sister would read (so in keeping with the sixteen and up rule, but still…)

Disclaimer: If I could imitate the gig of getting paid for writing fanfiction, then we might have an issue. Rather, I only write for pleasure, so if you were to sue me, you would end up paying me, since I would get some AWESOME publicity and be able to write anything I want and get it published. I dare you. :D Have a nice day.

* * *

Chapter Seven

* * *

The door clicked seven times as each of its physical locks unbolted. Abraxas raised his wand arm and trailed his middle finger in a serpentine S-shape across the Malfoy insignia present in a relief upon the black stone door. The serpents in the emblem shifted, coiling about the columns and slopes of the M. the largest serpent moved out from the symbol, facing Lord Malfoy with glinting emerald eyes and stretched open his black mouth, revealing his silver fangs. Abraxas moved his finger from its place on the M and set it within the serpent's mouth, his face stoic and void of expression, even as the serpent's fangs pierced into his finger, drawing five drops of his blood onto its slithering, forked tongue. The snakes coiled back into their original places, silently hissing at their master, and the magical lock opened with a quiet sound, like an old leather-bound tome hitting a stone floor after falling a great distance. The door appeared to crack down the center before opening outwards, wafting a salty mist into Abraxas' face, a bit of his long, blonde hair plastering to the side of his face. His eyes, which had been closed against the inevitable salt spray, opened again, shining like polished steel drawn in the moonlight to attack a sleeping enemy. He walked through the door and began descending a flight of black stone steps as the door slowly closed behind him.

* * *

_Whoosh. Thump. Whoosh. Thump._

I can no longer discern the sounds of my shallow breathing from the receding surf that laps at my thighs, or my sluggish heartbeat from the breakers meeting the stone wall behind me as they pulse with the moon's weighty pull.

_Whoosh. Click. Thump. Click-click. Whoosh. Click. Thump. Click-click-click. Whoosh._

My eyelids feel crusted shut by the salt but at the sounds of the unlocking door I force them open. My lips are cracked and bleeding, stinging harshly with each released breath and each measured spray of salt water.

_Thump. Whoosh. Thump. Whoosh Thump-thump. Whoosh. Thump._

I manage to raise my eyes so I can meet his gaze when he arrives on the lowest step in this private cell, but my head is too heavy for my tired neck to lift from my shoulder, and my tangled hair is caught on the iron hooks and chains which bind my arms above my head, locking me in place.

His dragon-hide boots clip on the stairs as he comes closer, cloak trailing behind him and causing a whisper of sound that is almost pleasing, except that I know he will bring nothing pleasant when he comes to me. The husband I once had is lost now to a man he had kept locked away for years, and now the inmates are running the asylum. My heart wobbles a small bit, as though it remembered its old track before reclaiming a grip on its newer path. My husband did not die the moment he abused that girl, rather he quit denying himself out of love for me and my wishes. He is no longer master over his will, and has succumbed to his baser desires and intelligences. Can I even see a piece of the man he once was left, lingering and lost, within this shell that he left behind? Can I be the Desdemona to his Othello and forgive him even after all of this?

I must try, if only for the sake of our son. _Oh, my Luc!_

His boots stop moving as he turns on the last stair, facing me, but his eyes refuse to meet mine, tracing instead over different pieces of my anatomy. His gaze lingers on my bruised elbows, pointing out towards him at the awkward angle they are snared in, and then moves onto my bleeding mouth. His own tongue flicks out to wet his own lips, and I believe he does not realize he is doing it. The next onslaught of his perusal begins on my belly button, tracing up to my visible ribs. I can see him counting them in his mind, and I wonder how long I have been trapped in this selkie prison built by his ancestors. Can he see one rib for every week? Or perhaps for every day? I cannot see them to count, but I can feel my skin pulling tautly against them, aching from the cold and shriveling in the constant wet. My breasts have puckered in the environment, shrinking closer to me, as though seeking protection. My spine straightens as I feel his magic gathering in the room, tinged with the potency of the salt filling the air, electricity a tangible element in this small world.

His eyes finally move to my own, dancing through the familiar silent conversations we have had countless times before. I told him to come to me and free me. He told me I had built my own cage, demanding too much from him over the years. I told him I had never demanded more than he could give. He let out his next breath in a heavy sort of sigh. His white fingers traced a familiar path to pinch the bridge of his nose and his right hand seemed to clench at the air before realizing there wasn't anything there for it to grip.

A frustrated wrinkle folded his brow for a brief moment before his years of manufactured distance filled in and smoothed it out. His lips puckered, only a small bit, and his nostrils flared before his cool mask fell completely into place. "Leonora." His voice sounded raspy in his throat, as though he had been drinking heavily once more. I didn't have to stretch my imagination to find which nightmares he hid from this time; I was living them.

I didn't have the breath to answer him, so I continue staring at him, waiting for him to explain his presence after such a long absence. I didn't have to wait long, his eyes leaving mine long before I was willing to break my stare. "It's been over a week, Leonora. This hurts me, seeing you like this. But you have pushed me here yourself, with your bad faith in me, 'Nora. Why?"

A bit of tension has eased back into his brow. I recall fond memories of soothing the wrinkles from his mind, and erasing his worries of the days to come with soft kisses. I think I smile as my lip stings with a new intensity.

"You laugh at me?" His eyes are angry now, passionate and hurt. _Oh, he is aching_. I move my right arm towards him without thinking, a small whimper escaping me as the unused muscles are jolted from their locked position. His face speaks of a hint of tenderness as his hand flies out as though to catch me, left foot stepping closer for a heartbeat or a breaking wave, and then he pulls back into his shell. "If you had listened to me then, 'Nora, I would not have to prove to you that I do not break the oaths I take. Why do you think that being my wife means you are allowed to pick at me, break the pieces apart and then glue them into a shape that pleases you? Why can you not see this," he gestures his arms widely, head swinging around to take in the walls of my chamber, "this stronger, more powerful side of me, and love him as well as the kinder husband? Do you not see that what I did before I married you I did to seek power with which to protect you? To give you everything you could ever need or want? I did what I did out of love for you, but then you forced me to swear an oath to never do it again, or you would leave me. And I could not bear the thought of living without you, 'Nora. You are—were my everything. And then you decided you didn't want me anymore. What had I done? I was home often, although I did go into the office upon occasion. I have given you everything you have ever asked for. Our s—our son has been the delight of our days and our years, 'Nora. Was some girl truly worth losing all of that? Was she?"

My husband was panting, pale face red with exertion and anger, spittle dripping from his lips. His nose was running, and his eyes wept, though I doubt he noticed any of that over the greater pain I saw in his familiar eyes. His heart was breaking.

I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, and felt a warm bit of water wash down my face with the saltwater. I looked back up to him and stared at him, trying to help him to understand I still loved him, despite what he had done. But, if I accepted what he had done and broke my promise to both him and myself, what would that do to me? What example did that provide for our Luc? I could not renege on my word, nor belittle the life of that witch I found, nearly gone from her still form.

The warmth continues to bathe my cheeks, doing nothing to erase the salt coating, except to maybe shift it, and I look into his eyes, finding that golden light present behind all the silver. His rage is a palpable force in the small room, tingeing it a dark purple, I think. Although, with no food and poor water, I am amazed at the amount of cohesion my thoughts do grant me, so perhaps I can give my senses some leeway. I blink, as a golden light shimmers in his eyes, and I hear the faint strings of our wedding dance—Bach's Allemande—sift into my mind, tickling my ears as it comes. I smile at him, a true smile for the first time in so long, and my heart seems to stretch to fill all of me as I do.

He begins to smile back at me, but then the silver in his eyes snaps, and it crushes the gold. He hisses at me, whispering words like "betrayal", and "deceit" as he snaps the wand in his hands at the chains above my head. He transfigures them from metal into salt water, and the droplets cascade down my body to join their comrades in my tiny ocean, only a touch faster than my dislocated arms as they collapse downwards.

My legs, unused to holding my weight up for this whole time buckle and pull me down into the darkness. As I fall I whisper, "I forgive you," and then a deep, fathomless, darkness closes over my head. Within the stillness that lies just below the surface of the water, I hear the music play louder and I laugh, welcoming the cold as it invites me deeper into its nuptial embrace.

* * *

Agatha Didgins, proud documenter in the Department of Magical Recordings, specialist in the obituary and birth bureau. She was very satisfied in the work she was responsible for, preserving the order of day-to-day life and death, filling in the documents, and categorizing any details which needed greater attention. At forty-seven years of life, she and her husband had not contributed any information to the records she proctored, other than the recordings of their entrances into the world, but theirs was a happy life, with a house filled with laughing friends, barking dogs, and purring cats. She smiled fondly as she swiped a strand of her wispy strawberry-blonde hair back underneath her war-era bonnet. It had been her first gift from her husband while they honeymooned in the Niagara Falls, and it was a lovely navy color with a white ribbon, striking pleasantly against the new dress her husband had surprised her with that Christmas, a white frock with navy dots and a navy sash. She felt quite the thing when she caught her reflection in a passing glass, and had felt rather perky all day because of it.

She was tucking her things into her purse to leave for the day when a fresh bit of scribbling began on her enchanted quill and parchment. Replacing her golden spectacles onto her nose, protecting her grey eyes, she leaned forward over her desk to make out the self-instructing quill's scratchings. The name caught her by surprise and she dropped her purse with a clatter to the desk. Her mind flew back to the earlier notice her husband had read from the Daily Prophet early Tuesday morning. Lady Malfoy, Leonora Malfoy née Glastor, had been declared missing by the DMLE, and it had been four days at the time of press release since anyone had seen her. A small sob escaped the woman, one glove on her left hand and the other was lying on her opened purse. Her scarf was tied about her neck, but her cloak and umbrella were still by the door to her office, forgotten in the excitement.

Acting rapidly, she gulped in a great breath of air—drowning always had been her greatest fear—and scribbled a quick note to the head of the DMLE. Blasinger needed to be informed straight away.

* * *

Shadebringer looked up as a scribbling began on his spare parchment. It was the quill for the Malfoy accounts, recording the most recent deposit. He shuffled over to the side of his desk, spectacles lower on his long, pointed nose as he scanned the precise numbers and exacting information the handwriting delicately inscribed. He waited until the adjustments were tallied, and then penned a notice to be sent to Malfoy Manor, informing the Lord Malfoy that the family's engagement, betrothal, and wedding rings were once more in residence in vault number 617. The goblin then turned back to the file which had held his attention a moment ago, a look of unrestrained glee on his face; it seemed the Tiburons had overdrawn. Again.

* * *

Hermione couldn't fight the gasp that left her throat, fighting against the rising terror of seeing her loved ones crushed once more, and all over again, flooding her mind. Dorea ran hastily to meet Molly over Arthur's body, both witches trying to rapidly stem his blood loss and reverse the damages of the hex that hit him. Hermione let out a steadier breath, adjusting her mind into its familiar battle stance and began hurling hexes at the five dark wizards who had dared to attack her Burrow.

She ducked under a particularly nasty yellow jinx and cast a hex towards the tall man she recognized as Dolohov senior. A young Rosier called out a loud stinging hex which she easily annulled, and the other three death eaters rapidly cast a joint mutilating hex. She responded in kind. The hexes flew between the young girl and her five attackers until two loud cracks announced the arrival of back-up. She turned her head to judge the alliance of the arrivals and had just caught the rush of ginger hair that identified the Prewett twins when a leg-locking curse managed to snare her feet. She met the ground with a heavy thump and rapidly cast the silent counter curse to the sounds of Fabian and Gideon dueling with the attackers.

She flung the next several curses without thought, only noticing in the aftermath that these were dark curses, forbidden spells. She moved past that thought with little hesitation, knocking Rosier away from Gideon before turning to duel with Dolohov senior and a man she strongly suspected to be Karkaroff while Fabian and Gideon handled the remaining death eaters.

A strong white hex blinded her momentarily, but didn't cut out the cries of pain from the two men fighting behind her. She blinked rapidly, attempting to recover her proper field of sight nd then fired three attacking hexes, one summoning bees, another bats, and the last small banshee-like magpies, which flew towards the three death eaters immediately before her. She hurriedly turned and cast a strong Protego around the three of them, guiding the bleeding figures of the Prewett twins to the ground. She gently cast a pain-alleviating charm on both men before rising from the pile of nearly-corpses and began fighting the death eaters afresh.

It was only a few more minutes of intense dueling, during which the heaviest death eater—Goyle senior, senior, perhaps?—fell to the ground unconscious, before the Aurors showed up, drawn by the intensely vibrant magical signatures radiating from the location. Several men she did not recognize launched into a rehearsed attack formation against her attackers, and she jumped when a hand was placed on her shoulder. She whirled around, wand aimed at his face, and a spell half-carried out when she recognized his searching gaze. She collapsed against Alastor momentarily, smiling at him in weak relief, before she recalled the young boys she hadn't seen. Pulling herself firmly from his grasp she ran over to Molly, leaving Alastor to join his comrades in battle.

She spelled out one word _Boys? _in her delicate, golden script before Molly began to cry. "I tucked them into the safe room, Mer." The red-haired matriarch was whispering through her silent tears. "A bomb shelter from the forties. It's in the cellar. I've warded it, but just think of their safety and you'll pull through. Keep them safe, Mer." Hermione began to pull away but was trapped by Molly's almost painful grip. "Swear to me, you'll keep them safe, Mer." A purple glow settled over the air, signaling the end of the attacks, and the capture of the death eaters by the team of Aurors.

Hermione squeezed Molly hand and nodded, which was enough for the harried mother as she returned her attention to her dying husband. Hermione pulled away and ran into the familiar house. She quickly opened the door to the cellar beside the kitchen pantry and nearly flew down the rickety wooden stairs.

Heart in her throat she spun about, taking in the bare walls of the cellar, ignoring the various shelves of pickled things and preserves, searching along the drywall for a signal of a hidden room. Finding nothing, she punched the wall in frustration, before it came to her. Cursing herself for her stupidity, she did a quick human revealing charm, and was greeted by three red lights visible through the far wall. She hurriedly began casting every opening charm she knew, from Alohamora to Yielderus. Finally she just rested both hands on the unyielding wall and pressed her aching head to it. _Please_, she thought fervently. She pulled her head back, mildly surprised by the small bloodstain which appeared, and then became amazed as the wall became a door, which she pulled open easily. She stuck her head into the hidden chamber, eyes taking in the sight of infant Percy kicking his legs from his crib, while his two big brothers kept him entertained and silent, small faces drawn with worry.

She rushed in and grabbed them to her, small sobs wracking her chest. They were safe. Her world was safe.

* * *

Lucius stared blankly at the note his father had sent to him, including his mum's betrothal and engagement rings, hands clenched tightly around the small, velvet box. He turned sharply from the window in the boys toilets and turned hastily to the sink. He gently set the boxes on the counter, and ripped the parchment to shreds, laying it in a funeral pyre in the basin of a sink. He changed his mind at the last moment and turned the tap, drowning his father's cold message in a pulpy mass of no emotion, watching his empty words lift off the page, having no real weight to the anyway. He groaned low in his throat, aching to cry, but having already shed all the tears he had been able for the mother he loved. He looked up at the mirror, seeing his eyes instead of my own. He only seemed to realize that he had punched the mirror when he recognized that the reflection was fractured and covered in a red liquid.

His father's words danced before his eyes, _For the one you have become close to. May she be more to you than your mother was to me. _Perhaps in another context these words would be harmless, but following directly on the lines of _Your mother has died. Her rings appeared in our vaults and I thought you might have a use for them._ He could not ignore the harsh reality and intense gravity of this statement.

He paused momentarily as another thought fleetingly crossed his mind. The parchment had smelled strongly of alcohol. Washing his hand in the sink, and tucking the precious boxes into the pockets of his trousers, Lucius Malfoy left the toilets, quieter even than when he had entered.

* * *

Teddy sat on the top row of the Ravenclaw stands, watching Andy zip around in the air, dodging and feinting around her teammates. He bent down to his journal, scratching down several new defense and offense tactics they could use against the Hufflepuffs next Saturday. He stood, braced himself against his broom and flew over to his teammates, journal clenched in his free hand. "Alright you tosser, that's enough for today!" he shouted as his team flew closer to him. "Go back to the common room and finish up any homework for next week you haven't done. I expect a well-rested, well-performing team at our next practice day after tomorrow." With a salute all seven players flew to the turf beneath their practice space.

"Oi, Teddy, come 'ere!" His heart leapt into his throat as he moved closer to the girl he was completely besotted with.

"Yeah, Andy?" He tried not to show the small whine in his voice as he said her name, a whisper of his desire for her creeping into his vocal chords.

"I've been meaning to ask you, you chat with Liam Tandry sometimes, right?"

I pause, uncertain of where this is going, before nodding. "Liam and I are study partners for our Ancient Runes class. Professor Tennyson is adamant that we partner outside of our houses, you know."

Andy nodded, distractedly, "Yeah, I've got Boris Bulkins from Hufflepuff. Anyway, I was wondering if he was seeing anybody that you know of."

Her beautiful eyes came to mine, dancing with expectancy, and damn my failing heart, a tinge of hope. I pulled back a moment, pursing my lips as I tried to fill my absent lungs with air. _Tandry? She fancies Tandry?_ I swallowed a lump my throat managed to create, fearing it might be my heart, readying itself to commit suicide and leap from my lips.

"I'm not sure," I manage to reply, sounding as nonchalant as I can.

She bites her lip and absently plays with her long, beautiful ponytail. "Oh. Well, could you ask him, do you think?"

I bite down on what must be my heart, for the pain that floods me doesn't stem from my tongue, but rather the center of the gaping cavity behind my sternum. "Of course," I say, face painted in as much disinterest as I can muster.

A magnificent smile lights across her face, and my heart, though aching fiercely, begins to beat again, home in its proper place. _Well, she could do worse than Tandry, I suppose, if she won't see me waiting for her._ I stiffen my shoulders and toss my broom casually over one as we begin walking to the broom shed just off the field. "Perfect," she gushes, keeping stride with me and my much longer legs. "Because Shelly simply adores him and will not stop pestering me to ask you." Her cheeky grin almost goes unnoticed in the moment of euphoric shock overtaking my whole nervous system. I swear, I can feel the startling in each of my toes.

"Shelly?" I don't think I dare to breathe.

Andy pauses, broom half-tucked into its slot on the wall. "Well, yeah, Shelly Corring. She's absolutely mad about him. Haven't any of you lot noticed?"

I shake my head, busying my trembling hands with the task of tucking my own broom away. I hear her scoff, and imagine she is rolling her eyes as she often does. "Boys," she mutters. "You are a right hopeless lot. Can never see what's right in front of your noses." She slides the panel shut on all seven team brooms, which automatically lowers the protection charm and anti-tampering wards essential to fair play between the houses.

I follow her lead, wandering through the greens and then the corridors back to our common room, listening to her planning the inevitable matchmaking of Tandry and Corring. My eyes dart to her face several times, riveted by the strength of the emotions I felt only moments ago. _I came so close to losing you, and you don't even know it, Andy. Boys aren't the only ones who can't see the forest for the trees._ I step forward, and hold the door for her after her answer to the riddle opens the door. I smile at her, nodding at her witty reply to our sphinx guarding the entrance and allow her to precede me into the common room. _One day, Andy, you'll see me, and look at me with your heart in your eyes and call my name with your soul in your voice. One day._

* * *

Druella Black née Rosier motioned to an ebony-colored high back chair Bellatrix had never sat in before. She moved and obeyed her mother, sitting stiffly, with a perfect posture, feeling the horsehair which stuffed the chair pricking at the backs of her legs, but she stifled the urges to swat at the hairs or scratch at her legs. "You summoned me?" came the saccharine voice of the nineteen year old Slytherin alumna.

Her mother's lips pinched into an imitation of a smile, the simpering face she wore to elegant teas and formal balls tightly secured, instigating a shifting in the planes of daughter's face as well, both adapted to years of aristocratic guerilla tactics. "Of course, dearest. You came of age shortly after your graduation, and last spring we celebrated your debut. Now, in the interim between the two debutante seasons, your father has received several offers for your hand."

The eldest child of Cygnus and Druella Black drew herself to her full seated height, a small smile gracing her lips as the conversation pleased her whims.

Druella nodded at her daughter, so similar to herself, and continued, "Now, several did not even merit opening, as the families are so far beneath our own. Dearling, your father and I recognize that good family connections are becoming harder to come by, especially with the Malfoy heir so enamored with your younger sister. However, two families, both of Noble Houses, if not Ancient, have sons who have requested your hand. Both come from splendid backgrounds, rich in funds, title, nobility, and purity of blood, bless Merlin. In fact, there is hardly much to differentiate the offers, as both males are the firstborn sons and heirs to their family names, estates, accounts, et cetera. So, your father can find no discerning quality on which to refuse one and accept the other. Upon coming to me," she nodded over at the silent man beside her, his lively black eyes burning across his daughter's face, trying to discern her true intents behind her mask, forcing his need for comprehension upon her, almost choking her. Bellatrix flicked her eyes to her father's, daring him to continue asking his unanswerable questions, before shifting her gaze once more to her mother's. "I came to the conclusion that you are reasonable, educated, and not without your own desires and means of achieving them. Therefore, we would like to know your opinions on the subject, before a final decision is breached."

Druella's hand reached out to Cygnus, silently warning him to not provoke their most volatile child. Druella often hypothesized to him that their own temperaments had been fused strongly in their hot-headed first born, mildly in their headstrong second-born, and that it still amazed her that their youngest had any backbone left for her to take at all. She often teased Cygnus that had they dared for a fourth child it would have been a Hufflepuff, which had decidedly short-circuited the mood between them until her childbearing years were behind her. But their relationship was not as stilted as it could have become, considering the lack of an heir. She supposed it was best that Cygnus' own sister was responsible for bearing an heir, their children being Blacks twice over. She imagined he might not be so forgiving of her teasing had that not been the case.

Bellatrix nodded at her mother, and asked, "Well, who has made the requests you are considering?"

Cygnus cleared his throat and blinked his heavy-lidded eyes. "Evan Rosier and Rudolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix pursed her lips, lost in thought. "Is Evan your cousin, Mother?" In response to her mother's nod, she continued, "Rudolphus then. I'll leave you to make the proper arrangements. Good evening."

And Bellatrix Black, soon-to-be Lestrange, swept from the room, silver and ebony robes swirling behind her in a dramatic flourish, curly hair bouncing even in its measured confines.

Cygnus eyes his wife with raised eyebrows, eyes meeting her aqua gaze evenly. "Shall we contact the Lestranges, then, 'La?"

Druella smiled sadly at her husband. "Oh, Cyg, if we were to do otherwise, I fear what might take place. She has your whims after all, and my tenacity and wiles. Merlin make this Lestrange boy strong enough to tame her. I know Evan would be strong enough, but I am doubtful he has the tact required. The Lestrange boy plants hope in my mind at the very least. Why don't you write to his father; I'll go to the owlery and find Emrys. I shall return shortly, my love."

* * *

"Well then, Madams and Lords Black and Lestrange, the contract shall be drawn up, and signed in blood, as tradition states," voiced the Ministry official, his silver robes a stark contrast to the dark colors of the mildly impressive Lestrange Manor's dark color scheme.

"I have established the basic requirements of fidelity, respect, obedience, honor, of course, and have listed the properties of Miss Black's dowry as their joint property during the marriage, but should the young Master Lestrange die before her, they shall remain solely in her name along with an allowance from her maiden Gringott's account. His properties will of course pass on to the next male heir of both lines, choosing a Lestrange before a Black, unless no males are available in that line. Primogeniture thus established, were there any other mandates either of you feel need to be included?" The man glanced warily at the two heads of very influential houses, being sure to defer to the greater Black Lord before glancing at the Lestrange Lord.

At their signal he offered them the blood quill, and waited until each set of parents had signed their children's future to each other. Next the young couple was called in and made to sign their names as well. The young Miss Black signed swiftly, with an interesting gleam in her eyes. The young Lestrange Lord signed his name more carefully, adding a delicate stroking to his signature, eyes glancing constantly from the parchment to his betrothed fiancée, as though reassuring himself that his decision was the right one.

And with a swift flourish, it was finished.

* * *

Marty Thicket grinned at his companions in the Auror training class, wand tucked carelessly in his right back pocket, robe tucked over his shoulder in his non-wand arm. It was their second-week of physical training, following their first month of studies, and each new recruit was eagerly awaiting his assigned Auror-trainer.

The Aurors were already late, due to an attack which required the attention of several unpartnered Aurors, but the excitement was still a palpable presence permeating the room with hope, and a healthy dose of fear.

The doors swung open, and every trainee stood to attention rapidly. The head nodded condescendingly at the lot of them and turned to allow the wounded, but strong men file in past him. Several young eyes riveted onto Alastor's magical eye, wounded leg and thick cane. Others eagerly devoured the crisscrossing scars hidden by patches of white gauze on the arms, cheeks, hands, and other visible bits of the Prewett twins. All three were worse off than any other Auror that filed in behind them, and the Prewetts were limping heavily, leaning against their own crutches, proud despite their weaknesses.

Marty felt his jaw drop in awe at the grand sight before him. Now _this_ is what he had signed up for! His excitement triggered his magic and he heard the loud spark before he felt the searing pain. The trainee behind him screamed causing everyone to glance at Marty's rather unremarkable arse. Unremarkable that is, except that's he'd hexed one of his buttocks off. One of the gruffer trainers snorted, "Bless Merlin it was your back pocket, Thicket. Imagine how much more uncomfortable reattaching on of your bollocks would be."

* * *

The boisterous chatter and bizarre cases which thronged the St. Mungo's of 1976 wasn't too different from that of 1996, when she had stayed there to recover from the wounds Dolohov junior had given her in the Department of Mysteries. It gave Hermione the feeling that teach anachronism was only in her mind, until a nurse with hair all the way to her knees, with a daisy tucked behind one ear eyed Hermione's own more radical hair with something akin to disgust. Hermione rolled her eyes, wondering at the Lavender Browns of the world, and shifting little Charlie a bit higher on her hip, nestling the sleeping Percy more securely in his sling across her chest. Six year old Bill Weasley sat in the chair to her right, legs kicking anxiously as his young mind ached to be assured his parents were well and whole and returning to him, but his bluer-than-blue eyes peered at his younger brothers warily, as if afraid to question that reality in front of them.

Hermione reached a hand down to his head and firmly turned his face towards hers. She smiled at him, trying to promise him that he needn't worry, but aching at her dead throat in a way she had never considered. To never be able to comfort a child again, never murmur sweet nothing as they wept, never sing a lullaby… All things she had never had much need for before, but were now gone from her forever.

She swallowed a thick lump forming at the back of her tongue, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand and to not fret over could-have-beens. An older mediwitch with tired eyes and a bobbed haircut moved closer to us, her maroon robes reminding me of Ron's Christmas jumpers, bringing tears to my eyes. "Now, these are the Weasley youngsters, right? Their mum wants them to come see their father now. Follow me." Hermione moved forward, Bill right on her heels, hand clenched in the folds of her jacket.

Hermione carried her young charges into the room the older woman brought them to, and slowly faced the prone figure of Arthur Weasley. His voice broke into a wide grin, attempting to charm his sons into security. "Ah, lads, come on up here. How I've missed you. Have you been good for our Mer, then? On your best behavior and whatnot?"

Bill burst into tears, and flung his arms around his father rather violently, gripping him and refusing to let go. I smiled sadly at him and passed the sleeping Percy to Molly, carrying Charlie closer to his father and sobbing brother. "Mewr, why is Bill cwying?" His voice seemed to have reverted into childish tones from the trauma, and I hoped he would overcome it quickly, afraid to lose any piece of my magical family to Voldemort's greedy, love-starved grip. I squeezed the young boy tighter to me, before perching him onto the bed with his wounded dad. I reached out a hand to brush the top of Bill's head, offering what comfort I could as Arthur consoled his two sons, so lost in the tumult of emotions riding their young bodies.

"I'm alright, lads. I'm right here. I've got you know. I've got you. That's it; cry it all out. Now it's all over, my brave little lions, you can let me hold you now. I've got you. I'm not letting go of you, lads. I love you and I'm right here. Hush, hush."

Feeling like I was intruding on this family moment, I pulled back from the bed and smiled over at Molly, as she rocked her baby tightly to her, eyes watering as she gazed at the occupants of the bed. A knock on the door distracted Molly, Arthur, and I, but Bill and Charlie remained oblivious, sniffling against their father, seeking comfort solely from his warm presence.

A tall white haired man, with a beard only half as impressive as Headmaster Dumbledore's, entered the room, flanked by two thicker individuals, reminding me of Crabbe and Goyle serving as Malfoy's shoulder pads. The man cleared his throat in a stuttering kind of way, reminding Hermione of a particularly pink Ministry official, causing her to wrinkle her nose at the sour taste that flooded her mouth.

"Are you the non-Aurors who were present at the Weasley household, the Burrow, outside Ottery St. Catchpole this morning?" All three of us nod, glancing at each other in confusion. The man continued, "I am Wizengamot appointed head of magical monitoring, and one of you used spells considered dark and are to be brought in for questioning. A stay in Azkaban awaits the users of dark magic. According to the records, Mr. Arthur H. Weasley was unconscious during the casting of these spells, and Mrs. Molly G. Weasley nee Prewett does not possess the magical signature present in these spells, as they were cast by a witch with no Wizarding ancestry to draw a signature from." He focused his green eyes, paler than Harry's and much whiter, onto Hermione's face. "Are you a muggleborn, Miss?"

Hermione nodded, knowing she could do little else.

"Were the dark spells of your own voluntary casting?" Hermione nodded once more. "Very well then, by the power vested in me by the Wizengamot Council of 1972, I hereby place you under arrest. Young, Urchin, bring her to the holding cells, gents."

Hermione couldn't stop the overwhelming thought of, _So this is what Harry felt like_, just before the two heavy men trapped her arms in their grip, pinching at her unseen wounds, and she cried out silently. Ignoring her strange behavior, the men carted her forcefully from the room as an outraged Molly and Arthur began shouting for aid, demanding that "you release that girl at once, you bloody scoundrels!"

But even Molly Weasley's strong vitriol was poured onto deaf ears as the men swiftly left the small family behind.

* * *

E/N: So, I will ask you to review, and this chapter is a sign of darker chapters to come; consider yourself warned. This is a war, my friends, not a tea party. Although, if you've ever been to one of my tea parties, you might not think they're so different…


	9. Chapter Eight

A/N: Today I bring you good tidings of glad joy to all men! Sorry, no heavenly message, just that I now have a Beta(!): the lovely Starcrescentmoon has been editing this fic for me, and will be Betaing the remainder of this looong fic! Welcome aboard, sailor! (She brought rum, so we know she's legit!) For Betaing this chapter despite a fever, I salute you! In other news, "new" character POV; give him your love.

Disclaimer: Never was, and never will be, because I am not a Gellert-esque or Tom-esque world-dominating minion. I am a Ravenclaw, and saw past the point of total control. All the way to the point of being responsible for the world, and having to clean up all the little kiddie's messes. Urgh. I handed in my resignation before I began taking over. Much less stressful this way.

* * *

Warning: Child abuse, torture, and other simply disturbing images stalk the lines of this chapter. You were warned 16 and unders, and those of weak constitutions.

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

"Well, she simply refuses to talk, won't even put up a defense for herself. Put her in the holding cell in the outermost ring. Maybe she'll talk to us after a night in hell."

And it was done.

* * *

The green glass looks rather pretty in the fire glow as it shatters against the hearth and litters the stained but thick carpet. It rains down like so many green snowflakes, a color filled with life, vivacity, and ambition. But green is also jealousy, and it is envy, and it is coveting, so we are alike, this shattering bottle and I. I lust and envy and covet the lives I see passing me by; I am jealous of every smiling child with a loving home to belong to.

The largest shard sits in front of the fireplace, lying peacefully on the red brick, and her face swims before my mind's eye, her laughing teeth, flashing green eyes, and dancing red curls, so like the flames behind the emerald weapon. Her eyes should be weapons; they are the same color as the life of spring, the greenest green grass, but also the color of death, brighter than the Killing Curse. Her Unforgivable eyes smiled at me when we parted for Christmas holiday.

Her parents drove in the small car ahead of the bus I rode home, scuttling through traffic at a much better pace than my own route. A charming little garden family they make: Father, Mother, two little flowers, and all fenced in with white pickets. My home is nothing like the sunshine that brims within the very teapots and jars of her home, with its traditional sibling squalls and marital tiffs.

I grew up in Hell.

The next bottle doesn't miss and rather than shattering alcohol into the fire, which makes a rather stunning performance of oxygen-absorption, but rather thuds soundly onto the back of my head with a heavy clip, a sound I cannot quite place. It feels like a rogue bludger has begun targeting my brain, zoning in on me like a heat-seeking missile. Merlin, I hate being a half-blood.

"M… My heart?" I think I say out loud, mouth thick with blood. Of course it would target my brain rather than my heart, for my heart isn't in my chest, it's sleeping and dreaming peaceful dreams in a white cot in the upper bedroom of that perfect blue house, slender hands tucked delicately under freckled cheeks.

I ignored the grunting sound that came from behind me and tried to focus my vision on that brilliant green piece of glass, intending to shove the dizzying spots from my vision by the sheer force of my will, but I was too weak.

Clammy hands shoved my neck forward, bending my waist in half, and salty breath wafts into my nostrils, making me choke more than the strength of his grip. I dig my fingernails into my knees as I try to hold myself up, refusing to kneel before this monster. I possess more power in my smallest exhale than this trash could formulate from the sum of his parts. I smirk in between pants, coughing mucus and blood onto the space beneath me, splattering the edges of my school shoes. Wonderful.

Hoarse laughter sounds in my dulled ears, and I absently lift a hand to check for cotton in them, knowing there isn't any. My hand is smacked away from my head, so close to his own, a perceived threat and a sharp blow to the spine slams me to my knees, and then my elbows, neck whiplashing back and forth before my jaw meets the thick carpet. It aches, like a thick hammer and stiff chisel being used to carve my insides into a grand cave for some willful sprite, but nothing will break thanks to the padding that caught me. I may not even bruise, if I'm lucky.

Her whimpers resonate through the room from her dingy corner, but he and I ignore them; we have always ignored them, since I had to be stronger than her since the start, and since he learned she wouldn't ever stop him. He steps past me, the heel of his boots crunching uncomfortably on the last three fingers of my left hand and I feel something pop.

The constant presence of those dots swirls in greater speed and the dots grow bigger, maturing quickly although I am unfamiliar with the average rate of maturation in visionary dots, and the cotton in my ears begins to drone and itch like a thousand bees have begun crawling into my head, channeling their bodies through my ears. So that's what the chisel was doing, I think before I bury my mouth and nose in the plush rug and see nothing but bright green eyes and a small smile, she's only ever given me.

I breathe in the smell of sunbaked grass and die happy.

* * *

Her heels click on the stone floor once more. "Well, Mudblood. Your brave, courageous, and downright foolish friends left days ago, and still no rescue party. I suppose they might be wondering just how to thank me for getting the trash off their hands, but after all, with their poor upbringings, their manners would be unquestionably lacking, wouldn't they? Hmm."

Bellatrix paced closer to Hermione, where she lay bleeding on the now unrecognizable white rug that adorned the windowed area of the Malfoy parlor room. Hermione felt her weak pulse feebly counting out her remaining minutes—one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand—and kept her breaths as deep as she could manage through the carnage that her body had become.

"You really are pitiful, aren't you?" The question was rhetorical, but Hermione hadn't been able to do more than emit hoarse, strangled croaks in place of screams for the past day and a half. If her judgment of time passing was still worth anything. Four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand. Probably didn't really matter, though.

Bellatrix moved over to the fireplace, where Fenrir was lounged, completely at ease, long nails drawing obscene designs in the dried and crusted brown blood Hermione had lost over there the day before. He lifted the scraping into his mouth and bit into them, seeming to enjoy the nearly silent crunch they made before sucking them against his cheek, acquiring a large mess of dried blood repooling in his hungry mouth.

Hermione mentally cringed, but physically remained stoic, refusing to lose any ground to the monster that lingered within his mind, strengthened and empowered by his inner wolf. Seven one thousand, eight one thousand, nine one thousand—he grinned at her, his mercenary leering birthing tremors in her spine which she could not censure or harness, as they jerked her body in swift spasms, bolting against the floor like an electric current dancing between storm clouds and dirt.

"Well, wouldn't want to waste a perfectly good chew toy for you, Fenrir. Go get Snape. He's sure to have some potion or poison to help elongate the torture." And with a wicked grin, Fenrir rose from the floor, preternatural grace apparent in the lithe movements of his scarred form. He looked at the girl weakly bound to the floor by her own flesh, and raised his bloody palm to his face, giving it a long, sensuous lick, trailing from the base of his palm up to the tips of his first two fingers, caressing them in a blatantly suggestive manner. Ten one thousand.

With a chuckle, he left the room.

* * *

"I don't give a damn whether you think she's killed the Minister of Magic himself! That girl saved the lives of two Aurors, and aided our work in defending a home and family from attack! You will not lock her in there with those soul-leeching monsters you call guards, and you will not inflict any sort of harm upon that poor woman, who has been through more suffering in the past month than you have seen in your entire, fumbling life, Waters! Now get that damn release signed and get me to her now!"

Even Hell itself couldn't stop Alastor Moody in the rage fueling his passionate actions. Flanked on either side by a Prewett, magical eye pinning the purple-robed wizard before him with an eerie glare. Waters had heard someone say it was the eye Odin had lost that Moody had gotten put in place of his own missing one.

Waters gulped as the unearthly gaze pinned him, seeming to find his soul and deeming it severely lacking.

* * *

Her arm was broken in three places and the two bones in her forearm each claimed two breaks of their own, and had been aggravated by repeated tugging of the attached muscles. The crisscross of foul language down her left arm was juxtaposed with the unsliced skin of her right, bruised, broken, and even bitten, but not torn flesh mutilating her wand arm. It was almost as if Bellatrix wanted her able to fight back.

She woke with a tearing gasp as she felt the tender, bruised skin palpated by cold, but gentle and sure hands. Her eyes refused to look in the same direction, so she closed the one that was mostly swollen shut anyway, focusing the other on the dark figure leaning over her.

A familiar voice commanded her to be still, and years of respectful obedience contorted her body into submission, intriguing her mind with its first diverting thought in ages, aeons.

Eyes of black met hers, conveying gentle thoughts, which frightened her. _Do I look so pitiful that even Professor Snape—Dumbledore's murderer—is trying to make my way out of this world easier?_ She flinched at his gaze, trying to shrink away from his comfort and move closer to life, if only out of spite.

His face pinched above her, jaw tightening at the hinges, making his white face appear even more fragile over the knobby bone prominences that rested just below some thin layers of sinew, muscle, and flesh.

"Miss Granger, drink all of this." Hermione opened her mouth subserviently, her eyes damning him silently to hell. Bellatrix laughed gleefully, somewhere in the background, but neither the professor nor his student paid her much heed, which she fortunately seemed to not notice. His brow was furrowed, as he explained to the cackling old hag behind him the consequences of each concoction he poured into her pet's obliging mouth. Hermione felt refreshed and renewed by the pain-relieving and pepper-up drinks he doctored her with. But, as her mental faculties returned to their highest operating faculties, she noticed a shimmering pool of tears locked by his tear duct. She crinkled her brow, focusing on it. He nodded softly, almost imperceptibly, but the smile that kissed the corners of his mouth with a slight curtseyed upturn would have been obvious to any Gryffindor student of the old dungeon bat. She focused on the alien sight for a few moments, mouth still agape, and he blinked, washing the liquid down his raven lashes and off his fair cheek into her waiting mouth.

She pinched her lips shut and swirled her tongue over his memories before she closed her eyes, letting them overwhelm her. His voice droned on to the sadist in the corner and her cannibalistic companion.

* * *

_Steel-toed boots meet my ribs, and I gasp out blood, eyes spinning madly for my mum. I see her reaching out for me, and then drawing away from his reaching arm. Weak creature. Defend me! Save me!_

_-sei romem-_

"_Snivellus!" the voice cry out in mocking tones, stroking the painful places on my soul, weakening my control over the monster my heart hides inside. I cringe away and flee to the safety of the cool, damp dungeons, reciting the ten uses for Dragon's blood to focus my mind and control my magic._

___-sei romem-_

_I fall to the floor, cold and shaking, sobbing so hard I cannot breathe. I think this is the first time I have ever really wept. What I said was unforgivable, I see it in her eyes, that blinding pain. I put that there. I gave to the one creature I vowed never to hurt more pain than I have ever received. I am a monster._

___-sei romem-_

_I step forward, accepting the dark mark; I do not expect the pain, but it is nothing to living every day without her. I do this for you, Lily. I will defend you, and ensure your safety, even if it means protecting that pitiful Potter as well._

___-sei romem-_

_I kneel at Dumbledore's feet. Fear overwhelms my body in cold and hot sweats, twisting like a heated serpent in my gut. "Save her. I will do anything."_

"_After all this time, Severus?" he asks, incredulous._

"_Always," I whisper fervently._

___-sei romem-_

_I have failed. I hold her body close to mine, never wanting to let go. NOOO! My soul cries out to the empty night, echoing the cries of the screaming child behind me. Not Lily…. Not my Lily…_

___-sei romem-_

_I am standing before his desk, watching him tuck his rebandaged hand back into his robes. "With the Oath you've sworn for the sake of your godson, I must ask you to make one more, Severus. I am dying. It would be a mercy to let me be free of this pain and slow death. But, I will not let my soul weight an innocent boy, if I can help it. Will you do it, Severus?"_

_I choke on oxygen as if it were water. "You would ask even this of me, Albus?"_

"_Even this."_

___-sei romem-_

"_Do it."_

_I meet his gaze, his powerful wand lingering obscenely in the hands of an inexperienced young boy. I am breaking apart into fathomless pieces and endless grief. "Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

Hermione's eyes open, able to see clearly physically and newly in the depth of the character of a man she had judged too harshly the entire time she was familiar with him.

Her voice was croaking, but not wholly gone, his magic having restored some of its properties to her. "You are forgiven," she whispered, and saw his shoulders crumble once before straightening. But his eyes were rimmed with red as he pulled away, the blood of a bookish, muggleborn Gryffindor staining his healing hands for the second time in his life. "Forgiven," she whispered again, as Bellatrix moved in for the kill.

* * *

Alastor growled at the fumbling Waters, whose thin body quivered and trembled, long piano-playing fingers couldn't keep a hold of the proper keys, dropping them three times before managing to find the correct mate to the locked door. Fabian leaned forward, gripping the key in his own strong fingers, frowning fiercely at the quivering mass of nerves someone deigned strong enough to monitor a prison and unlocked the door.

The warmth bled quickly from the room, like a dying heart tossed into the winter seas, cut from its warm host by the insensitive layered teeth of starving sharks.

Breath fogging the air before their faces, the three Aurors continued on, marching undauntedly through hell to find its tortured, but never broken angel. Alastor moved his chest, breaths coming shallowly as he traversed the labyrinthine passageways, heart pinching and lungs limiting the entering force of fear, determined to squash the nightmarish visions of what he would find, determined to be strong.

* * *

Her wounds had all been reopened. Professor Snape had returned to the castle he was now Headmaster over, where Hermione now knew he was defending his students lives with the subtlest moves a Slytherin could offer, outwitting even Slytherin's heir.

Hermione felt her head sitting in a heady-scented puddle—a dizzying combination of her own blood and sweat, tangy with salt and fear—and saw Bellatrix grin wickedly in her direction, eyes buzzing with delight at her new plan. Hermione swallowed past the painful rash coating her throat.

"Fenrir, darling…" drawled the monstrous Lady Lestrange. Her pet werewolf moved to attention, head perking like a hound at his mistress' knee. "I suppose you could play with my old doll now, just remember: no biting." And with a cruel laugh she patted his arm, pushing him towards the panicking pile of bones, books, and blood on the floor.

His grin seemed almost sensual, as though he were attempting to seduce her, removing all the inhibitions he had against her kind—his own blood was tainted, was it not? But with _his_ taint came an even greater power, with hers came nothing; a wolf could always be counted to remind the humans who tried controlling it that they belonged to the dust they came from. He was king to the moon's lady queen—and this bitch before him was the moon's gift to her consort.

A gift he would enjoy, ravenously, but slowly.

He shrugged out of his cloak and vest, robes following soon after. Wearing what appeared to be linen breeches and a hundred scars, shimmering white in the pale sunlight the grand windows admitted from the clouds above. He stalked to her, a hunter scenting for his prey's weakness. A feral grin broke over his face like the spilling yolk of a cracked egg, his tongue slowly trailing over his canines and front teeth.

His forbidding form loomed over her and he crouched, hands curved into claw-like grimaces, one pinning her head back by her hair, the other bringing her bleeding wrist to his lips. His pink tongue tickled out of his pale lips, tracing each letter delicately, causing her spine to tremor with disgust, a movement he misinterpreted as pleasure.

His grin, pale lips now red with muddy blood, was perfectly savage. He moved his hand from her wrist, dropping it to the floor where it snapped limply. His roving hand found her damaged throat where he salved the delicate wound which marred the otherwise pearl skin. He smiled to himself now, ignoring his partner, dark eyes greedily absorbing the macabre image that was the eighteen year old student in his arms. His pressed his lips to hers softly, tenderly caressing the split pillows of softness with his menacing tongue. He groaned against her when he jaw fell slack, her mind completely shutting itself away from her weak body, attempting to fend off insanity, desperately trying to survive.

He moved his head to the side, tongue forcefully invading her mouth, marking and claiming each wound he found in there. Every time she had bitten her cheeks to keep silent, every scream that aggravated the skin, every "crucio" that burst her tiniest blood vessels, ravaged and fondled with his tongue, licking like a cat at clotted cream.

He moved her body under him, pulling away from her mouth, dropping her head to the floor, and slowly puller her jumper over her head, ripping the shirt he found beneath. His hands caressed bruises, breasts, and broken skin with equal parts tenderness and selfishness. He bent his head and lapped at each mar in her flesh, suckling at her breasts like an infant, and nibbling gently on every deep maroon bruise, careful not to break the skin.

She screamed in her head, trying to claw her way from reality, chasing herself down the library of her mind, toppling bookshelves like the prophecy shelves in the department of Mysteries, trying to escape the chaotic crashes.

His rough tongue smoothed along her skin like sandpaper, and she tasted bile in her abused throat.

* * *

"Mer."

She blinked, but didn't respond, as though maybe she could not hear him. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her ribs, holding herself tightly, curled up behind her long legs, head thrown back as she looked up, at what no one could say. The two hundred and seventeen dementors near her seemed to seek her out, lingering in her delicious presence, sucking at the chilled air near her, as though it possessed the perfume of her soul.

Alastor stepped forward, injured leg stinging painfully, limping awkwardly as he approached the young woman huddled, still coated in soot and blood from the battle from yesterday morning. Alastor's lip seemed to shift in an almost quivering motion, but not quite. Drawing himself up stiffly, he reached an arm down to her, but he didn't touch her, instead offering her his hand. Quietly giving her the chance to pick herself up from the mess around her.

"Alright now, gel, yer coming with us, where ye belong, not this festering hell-pit."

Her eyes had been glazed, and now wept, freeing themselves from the walls she had built around the tiny shred of sanity that hadn't been taken from her yet. The dementors swirling around seemed to draw closer, falling for the unthinking lure of her sweet nature.

"Constant vigilance, Mer." He offered the phrase to her as though it meant more to her than it did to him, and she vaguely entertained the notion that perhaps he hadn't been saying it just yet. That shook her even more and she reached up to him, clinging to an anchor in her misery.

He gruffly clutched her tightly to him and marched out of the prison strongly, even if his one leg seemed a bit game. The red-haired angels of vengeance and wrath who flanked him seemed to spark blue magic, sending anyone foolish enough to try and approach the very succinct message to fuck off.

* * *

E/N: Reviews make me the luckiest writer in the world. Please review! And since I haven't yet said it, everyone who follows and favorites either me as an author or any of my fics is just wonderful. Bartender, a round for my friends! (Review!)


	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: Still have a poll up on my profile which begs for your attention. And it is now official: Hermione G./Alastor M. (Squeals like the fan girl I am for Scotsmen in kilts who speak with that delicious burr). So, overall, this chapter will be a bit more lighthearted than the past two. The sun does sometimes come out, I'm told.

PS: If you PM me, I can send you Mrs. Weasley's Pumpkin Bread Recipe (aka: my Momma's) if anyone would like it.

Disclaimer: Sigh. Do I gotta?

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

Chirrup. Chirrup. Cheep.

The damn thing would not shut the bloody feckin' hell up. How did one permanently silence one of these bloody friggerin' things?

Chirrup. Chirrup. CHEEP!

The last shrill call was aimed directly through the owl's beak and into the delicate shell of an ear two inches away. To the great amusement of the owl, this caused the man to leap from his bed, throwing himself dramatically into the arms of gravity, tumbling in a jumble of bare flesh and scarlet sheets to the hard stone floor.

"Bloody feckin', buggering' tosser of a mother's arse! OW!" The owl considered his duty done, and dropped the scarlet letter onto the boy's sheet-wrapped lap before ducking out the window, and taking off into the night.

BOOM.

Three other boys woke to the sound of gargling nails, gnashing teeth, and nails scraping down a thousand chalkboards worked in harmony to create the screams of one Walburga Black.

"PRONGS! MAKE IT STOP!" Sirius Orion Black curled into his bed sheets, trying to tuck himself under his bed, but the Howler seemed charmed to follow him. "MOONY! Save me, you worthless gits!"

James stared blearily at the tan and red blur being chased by another, much smaller, red blur, head cocked to the left as he tried to make sense of the sounds he was hearing. "Oh, Madame Blarsh? Have you lost your kittens again? I promise Padfoot didn't eat them. He doesn't even like kittens. Says they taste like purple marshmallows."

Sirius spluttered at his incoherent best mate. "What the feck are you blethering on about? Get this hyena into the fire, you horned git!"

James nodded at the reddish-pink haze sagely. "That's what I told him, but he insisted they tasted purple. Although he said squirrels were more like beef jerky covered in pillows and lemon marmalade, which he much prefers. So, he couldn't possibly have eaten your kittens." James nodded decidedly once more and turned around in his bed, tucking his head back onto his pillow, knees planted firmly on the bed, bum high in the air.

"I will bloody kill you, Potter! Your days are numbered! Make your will!" Sirius had managed to get halfway under his bed, but now the Howler was trying to bite the sheets away from him, scaring the sixteen year old boy into fighting with a bit of parchment to keep his personal bits properly associated with his sheets.

Remus sighed, and started wearily reaching for the wand on his bedside table, while Peter chuckled nervously, tucking his slightly plump body deeper into his golden sheets, a bit of sweat creating a sheen on his brow while his slightly pointed teeth worried his plump lower lip. "Silencio," Remus whispered, creating a moment of blessed silence, during which the Howler began expanding, as though holding in an explosion of atomic proportions.

"MAYDAY!" Sirius shouted, quickly abandoning his sheets, and rolling under his bed to safety, hurriedly jumping up and bouncing into Remus bed, ignoring the werewolf's protests.

Boom!

A smoldering sound filled the room along with enough smoke to choke a dragon. Coughs erupted from four chests, as the boys waved their hands in front of their faces, trying to clear the air to see and breathe.

Sirius' bed curtains were gone, although there was enough smoke clinging to the singed bedposts to give the illusion of curtains draped across the four poster. Sirius, covered in soot, hopped off of Remus' bed and stood, fists planted on his tan hips, and surveyed his bed.

James sat up, fully awake now and whispered, "Sirius, what happened to your bed?"

Peter and Remus climbed out of their respective beds, clad in Quidditch and star themed pajamas respectively, standing beside Sirius as he took in the damage. "Well, I believe my mother just tried to kill me." James clambered clumsily out of his bed, one foot having lost its sock somewhere in his bedsheets, and stood beside Sirius. Sirius nodded, and began rocking back and forth on his feet, avoiding the smoldering bits of wood and cloth on their dorm room floor. "Well, either her or Moony, since it was his spell that made it go all flamey and firey and "poof"-y and smokey and everything."

Remus whacked the back of Sirius' head with a tutting sound. "Put some pants on, Pads. Before Minnie gets here, or she really will go batty, seeing you starkers." Remus turned around and climbed back into his bed, circling on it a few times before curling up asleep.

James chuckled. "Werewolves, can't live with them… So you alright, mate?" He waited for Sirius' nod before grinning and teasing, "Better put those pants on then. Don't want Minnie knowing just how short the short end of her stick will be until it's too late."

"POTTER!"

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat staring into the fire in the Slytherin Common Room. Everyone else was in bed, sound asleep, dealing with their demons in as healthy a manner as they could. But Lucius couldn't shake the sense that something was off with his father. And it wasn't just that he had lost his wife, a woman he loved and who loved him back; Lucius knew they had been in love, he had seen it.

So why would his father be so cold and callous about this ring, this piece of his love for his wife? Lucius couldn't wrap his mind around the concept, knowing love was a rare thing for Slytherins, but when they found it, they clutched it with both hands and kept it by any means necessary. Even if it meant locking a princess in a tower to keep everyone else away from her.

So how the hell had his mother left without his father knowing, and what had happened to her, and why was Abraxas so… empty?

He turned his gaze from the fire to the giant window to his right, the only one in the Slytherin dorms, which looked not out into the night sky, but rather into the depths of the Black Lake. He saw nothing but inky movements in the swirling waters behind the glass, until three Grindylows floated past, locked in battle with each other.

Lucius sighed, running long fingers through his shoulder-length, pale blonde hair. Maybe answers would be more forthcoming in the morning.

He doubted it, though.

He rose stiffly from the upholstered settee and took a few steps towards the boys dormitories, before he noticed her.

Narcissa stood in a white night gown with a blue dressing gown thrown delicately over it, waiting for him in the hallway. "Why didn't you say anything, Cis? I didn't know you were there."

"You needed to be alone, and to think. I was waiting. Are you headed to sleep now?" Her blue eyes were so worried for him, her heart aching for the loss of his mother, her usually controlled face showing emotions to the man she trusted with them. He reached a hand to her face, which looked so fragile in that moment and he pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "Luc?" she asked, nose and lips pressed to his neck.

He just shook his head and whispered, "No." She pressed her hands firmly against the small of his back, and held him as tightly as he held her, both afraid to let go.

* * *

Mer still wouldn't let go of him.

The four had arrived at Potter Manor four hours ago, where Molly had instantly insisted they all sit and eat up. The poor woman had left her husband sleeping in a guest room, while her young ones were under the careful eyes of Andrea and another Potter maid, Margaret, and she had been cooking and baking like a madwoman. But it had seemed to sooth Mer a bit when she smelled the cinnamon and pumpkin pie baking, and even more when she had seen Molly trundling about in a blue cotton dress and white apron, red hair frizzy from the heat of the kitchen.

Mer had even smiled, for a moment.

But then it had gotten worse, her body wracking with silent sobs, face hidden behind hanks of hair, only her nose and the bright purple scar on her temple visible. Alastor didn't dare let her go, rocking her as gently as he could, humming gruffly at her, trying to ease her ache.

He'd never wanted to protect someone this much. Her hair was still damp from her stay in Azkaban, matted and tangled, as though she had been running her finger through it in a nervous attempt to control something—or perhaps anything at all—but she still looked just as strong as he'd ever seen her. The golden sands he had seen littering her body through his magical eye still remained all over her skin, but it gave her a sort of luminescent glow. Making her seem holy, untouchable, angelic.

When he had seen her bright figure lying in that dark cell…

"Here you are, dearie. Fresh baked pumpkin bread, and I added some raisins to it. Bite into it and you'll feel right as rain." Mer seemed to shift a bit, so Alastor pulled his arms slowly back, biting his lip against the protest which welled up from some unknown and unvisited place within him. Once Mer was facing the table, she reached forward, took a slice from the steaming loaf and laid back against Alastor. She curled up again, head turned to lie against his heart, the constant thumping a comforting white noise to her shattered soul. She pulled the heated bread which smelled of every visit to the Burrow, and tasted like her first kiss with Ron, and allowed the small things to help put her pieces back together, sealing them with love.

* * *

While Margaret was trying to put Percy down for a nap—which the indignant child would have none of, thank you very much—and Andrea was busy building a dragon-safe fort with an exuberant Charlie, Bill stuck his book of riddles under his arm and wandered away. The first room he tried was empty, filled with nothing but empty furniture, dust, and stale air. He found two more rooms like that one before he found his dad's room. He stepped in, ready to talk to his father, but saw the pale man sleeping and changed his mind. Closing the oak door gently, Bill snuck back down the hall, following the smell of his mum's cooking. He soon found a small dining room, where his uncles and mum were quietly chatting at one side of the table and Great Auror Moody was holding Mer.

Bill walked silently over and sat down next to the Auror, watching the great blue eye that seemed to follow him all on the way; Bill could have sworn it even looked through the back of Great Auror Moody's head. He sat quietly, unnoticed by his mum and uncles, watching the young woman who kept smelling and nibbling on some wonderful pumpkin bread.

Bill laid his book gently beside him on the large chair which could have easily held him and Charlie before turning to Mer. He reached out and placed his small hand onto hers. She looked up sharply, caught unawares by the small newcomer, but her mouth quickly moued into an amused pucker, tilting off to the side, hot chocolate eyes regaining some of their former light.

She took the slice in her hands and broke in half, giving the larger share to the future Gringott's curse breaker, winking at him. He grinned and took it from her, chewing it all at once, finishing with a swallow he surely would teach to a future Ron. He grinned at her once he had scarfed down his half of the treasured food, before turning to his mum and loudly asking, "Mum?"

The Weasley matriarch started, surprised by his appearance, but smiled at her firstborn and nodded at him. His uncles were staring at him as well, waiting for him to speak again. Fighting back a sense of stage fright he didn't know he had, Bill stood up on his chair and spoke quietly, "Charlie is building a fort, and I want Mer to come help us. We want her to be our princess, and we'll be dragons fighting off all the knights who want to take her away. Please, Mum?"

Molly looked worriedly over at the slender woman, whose face was no longer hidden by her hair, and who was in fact braiding her tangled hair as best as she could. Mer moved up onto her feet and placed her delicate hand into Bill's, smiling at him before she kissed the top of his head. Molly grinned, "Well, it looks like Mer would be delighted to be your princess. I'm sure you could manage to wrangle up some knights in armor if you looked around hard enough, too." She nudged her brothers playfully as they grinned.

Bill smiled widely and turned to his uncles, excitement causing his small body to bounce on the wooden chair. "Would you?"

"We'd be delighted, Bill."

"Of course, and I'll be the white knight," Gideon said, chuckling.

"Why do I always have to be the black knight, mate? Even in Wizard's Chess?" Fabian poked at his twin's ribs, before moving to poke at his eyes.

Gideon knocked both hands away with a practiced ease while replying, "Because I always make the first move. I am older, and—"

"—by thirteen bloody minutes. First to move, my arse."

Molly tutted at her brother for his language, but shooed them both off with a wave of her hand. The twins marched off towards the play room, but Bill stood waiting in front of Great Auror Moody, his young hand still clutching at Mer's soft one. Swallowing thickly, he stood as tall as he could and said in a loud voice, "Great Auror Moody? Would you be the Warlock in our castle? We need someone to help with the magic in our fights with the knights, a'cos dragons don't have magic."

Mer's small smile melted onto her face like butter into hot toast and spread out into a large grin. Alastor paused, fighting his own grin.

"Weel, lad, I suppose I might be able to Warlock fer ye and yer young bruther. After all, it is quite a fair princess ye've managed to snare for yer dragon aerie. She deserves a warlock and two dragons to defend her from the likes of scum such as yer uncles."

The Auror rose from his chair at the table, bones in his right leg creaking in protest after such a long time without movement. "Weel, we'd best be off, lad, afore those knights get the best of yer younger dragon kit." And Bill reached out to take the man's tanned hand in his free one. Leaving his book of riddles behind, Bill took off at a run, dragging Mer and Great Auror Moody behind him towards his great dragon aerie.

Molly started singing in the kitchen, happy that things seemed to be working themselves out, in spite of the horrifying actions of the Ministry on behalf of that poor girl.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Waters, I cannot find a single record of the girl Moody named. She has no birth record, no school record, and no anything right up until her signature appeared in the Misuse of Miscellaneous Dark Magicks Department, and even there it only registered that a muggleborn had cast the spells. Did Alastor give us more to go on aside from 'Mer'?"

Waters shook his head at his supervisor, brow tense with worry of his impending sacking. He was certain he was going to be fired for the way he had handled the muggleborn's case. He just knew this was it.

A bead of ugly sweat trickled from his bushy eyebrows, down his nose, where it dangled for several long moments, before landing onto his quivering lips with a tiny splash.

He was going to be fired, and then he'd be out of his flat for being late on his rent dues, but he'd had other needs to supply first. His long pale fingers twitched rapidly, knowing he needed some more luck if things were going to go his way. His elbows were locked tightly to his frame, but his wrists trembled, jostling his hands in the air like dancing puppets, mouth silently whispering, "Just need my Luck. Luck, luck, luck. Need more Luck."

* * *

Liam Tandry was the best mate a bloke could have. He wasn't in love with anyone, or interested in anyone except for Shelly Corring. He had, in fact, sketched her name in several places all over his parchments in every class he had with her, some even bearing small drawings of her eyes or hands holding her quill.

Liam Tandry was more than ready to join Teddy on a double date with Andy and his dream girl, Shelly. Well, if his whoop for joy when Teddy had asked him was anything to go by, that is.

So, on a chilly January Saturday morning, the foursome made their way from the castle into Hogsmeade village, huddled tightly in their blue mittens and striped blue and bronze scarves. Clouds of carbon dioxide puffed out from their lips thicker than the tobacco smoke folding out of the end of Rosemerta's pipe after a long day's work.

Stomping their feet as they entered Zonko's joke shop to shake off the snow, Teddy and Andy pulled back to allow Liam and Shelly to go ahead of them and get some alone time. Teddy swallowed nervously, suddenly very warm in the bright shop. He undid his gloves and scarf, tucking them into his coat, which he slung over his shoulder with a practiced, unthinking air. "So, Andy, what did you want to look at?"

Andy smiled and tucked her arm into Teddy's, squeezing it with a hearty grip. "Well, Teddy, we could start with leaving the shop and abandoning them to each other." She winked at him before continuing, "Then of course, we would be completely alone and free to ravish one another."

Teddy choked, blushing before he managed to stammer, "S-so, off t-to H-honeyd-duke's, then?" She laughed at him and nodded.

* * *

Abraxas eyed the cheery fire burning in his hearth with distrust. How could he be warm when her body was still so cold, sunken and lost?

He moved the glass in his grasp to his lips, knocking it back to swallow, but finding it empty. When had that happened? He turned and gripped the heavy bottle, angling it into his glass to pour more, but the bottle had nothing left to offer him.

He pinched it tightly and tossed it into the fireplace, cursing her name with a loud cry.

A house elf appeared at his elbow, fresh bottle in its aged fingers. He stared at the disgusting creature, trying to recall its importance, for this was no ordinary house elf.

"You!" he accused the elder elf. "You were with her! You saw the girl, too, did you?"

The elf looked at his master, with a look similar to pity, but of course house elves were much too stupid for emotions. "How dare you!" And with an enraged shout, Lord Malfoy grabbed the poker from the hearth and skewered the elf on it, tossing the object onto the fire, before storming out of the room, ignoring the screams.

* * *

E/N: Please review!


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: I have a cat! Her name is Quidditch, and she owns Harry Potter, youngest Seeker Hogwarts ever had, Viktor Krum, that foreign delight, Cedric Diggory, prior to his sparkly phase, and Draco Malfoy, until his father hears about this. So there. :P Anyhow, sorry for the short chapter, but you've got an update! Can't win 'em all...

Disclaimer: It wasn't mine in the prologue either, but I'll keep you posted.

* * *

Chapter Ten

* * *

Severus winced as his lips pulled into a reflexive sneer when he caught sight of the infamous Marauders laughing and joking at the Gryffindor Table. His lips still ached a bit, but Lily had taken the worst of the sting from them on the return train after holidays. They had sat quietly in their compartment together, each reading, or discussing the contents of their assigned essays or other classwork until Lily had finally snapped. He could tell his bruises and split lip were bothering her, but as soon as the train had passed through the boundary he had done several clever Glamours to disguise the injuries.

"Please let me heal them. I can't take all the pain away, but I do know some healing charms that should help, Sev." He had refused, pride demanding no other answer, until she had almost cried, whispering, "It hurts me to not help you, Sev. I'm a Gryffindor and we take care of what we love. Let me heal you."

Severus had been so shocked by her left-handed declaration of love that he had nodded dumbly. Her spells had removed the worst of the sting and had healed most of his bruises past needing further Glamours, but her skill wasn't yet great enough to heal them completely. But she had said she loved him.

Even Prat Potter couldn't take that from him.

* * *

Hermione sat on a cushion, bushy hair pulled back in an untidy plait, curling out from under the sloppy flower crown Charlie had woven for her. She had been given a "pwincess vewl", a lace tablecloth stolen from Dorea's table, and a "pwincess dwess", which had been transfigured for her by her very grumbly warlock guardian. Her two young dragon-protectors were currently growling ferociously and wrestling with the black knight who had come to claim her hand. The white knight lay a few metres away, already burned and gutted by the young dragons, hands tucked under his ginger head as he watched the ensuing battle with unmitigated glee.

Her warlock stood beside her princess perch, watching the tussle with a grin he probably thought no one could see. But Hermione was used to being able to see what others missed; being the bookworm of Dumbledore's Golden Trio meant you sometimes went unnoticed and therefore were the most likely to notice things. Things like the way Alastor's eyes were always tracing over her scarred arm, causing her to wonder absently just how many times his eyes had traced over that mark on her flesh, and to wonder what value he granted that scar.

She had her hands folded neatly on her lap, as any demure princess would, but her right hand kept moving to trace the ridges in her skin without her consent. She pulled her hands back into her lap twice, catching herself in the coping gesture before Alastor reached a hand down to hers, gripping it firmly.

She looked up at him, but he never said anything, just warming her hand in his own. She smiled in return to his worried stare, and gripped his hand in a firm gesture of "I'll-make-it". His returning gesture of acceptance was a bit delayed, as though he would let her judge, but still had his own doubts. His magical eye flickered over to the mayhem on the floor, and he puffed himself up, ready to play his part in their children's game. He offered her his hand and said, "My princess, I fear yer dragons have been bested by the foul knight below. Allow me to escort ye to the tower, where ye main remain safe as I defeat this blasted demon from Hell's coldest depths."

Mer stood with his help and moved over onto the nearby couch, standing on it for safe-keeping. She bent to kiss his hand before he pulled it away and smiled at him, thanking her valiant protector. In a few moments, two "dead" dragons and one "dead" white knight joined her on the couch to watch Alastor and Fabian mock-duel. At the end of the little fairy-tale, it ended happily ever after, with the black knight defeated and the warlock taking the princess to his magical castle to be his wife. Charlie wanted to play again right away, but Gideon insisted they had to wait for this version to stick before trying a new one and then they were all called to dinner.

After dinner, the Weasleys and the Prewetts went to stay at the Burrow for the first time since the attack. Hermione watched the fireplace long after its green tint had faded to a healthy orange glow. Dorea nudged the girl to go to her room and sleep when she couldn't keep her own eyes open any longer.

* * *

Ted Tonks fiddled with his tie, glancing nervously towards Andy's dorm room door. He paced going over and over the conversation in his head. It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't. He refused to believe it. His Andy would never…

The door swung open, almost clocking him right in the nose. "Oh, Ted! Sorry, I didn't see you there. What did you need?" Andy stood there, a hand on her hip, the other tucking her gorgeous hair behind her ear, just like always.

"U-h, um, I…." He trailed off, eyes avoiding her own piercing gaze.

"Yeah?" Andy eyed him as though he might be sick and moved her hand up to feel his forehead.

"I'm fine! I just… I heard you were with Macmillan and I wanted to ask… When the hell will it be me, Andy? I love you! I have for a while now, and I was fine with you not noticing so long as you weren't with anyone, but I just—GARH! I love you, Andromeda Black, and you had damn well better decide just what you're going to do about it!" Ted turned away from a shocked Andy, whose mouth looked kissable even when it was gaping like that and bolted out of the common room.

* * *

A low chuckle flooded her ears. Hermione tensed, aching muscles protesting each movement. She hated this man. His fingers were tender as he shifted her hair away from her face, his fingers pressing gently against the purple scar left by Bellatrix. She moaned, a low ragged sound with hardly any air behind it, still recoiling from the man. "Aw, hush now, pet. I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that. I'm here to do just the opposite, love. Now come here and stop fussing so I can kiss you, pet…"

She thrashed trying to get away from his touch, feeling bile rise in her throat. She shifted her legs against her soft, cotton restraints, and pulled her head away from her pillow. She jolted out of bed and onto the floor, away from the clawing fingers of her nightmare. She fumbled to her feet and made it to the sink before she was sick. Her retching was the loudest sound she had made in a long time and her ears ached in the echoing of the bathroom. When it was over she cleaned her face and left the tap on to wash out the sink. A reflection of a pale, tired, and haunted woman stared back at her. The eyes were brown, like mud—the word her arm said she was anyway—and her hair was a nest not even a rat would call home. She reached for the brush to begin untangling it, and saw the scars on her arms reflected against the silver mirror. A soundless cry raged up from within her, tickling the passages of her throat in its futility. Tears slid down her cheeks, taunting her as they furrowed through the etched lines of her scars. She knelt on the floor, and crawled over to the cold porcelain tub. She rested her cheek against it, taking comfort in the cool surface against her burning cheek.

She couldn't shake her nightmares, couldn't scream, couldn't call for help. A sob wracked her chest, followed by several smaller ones. She couldn't help her boys either. She wept until she fell asleep, cheek pressed against the cold tiles of the floor, arms holding a plush towel close like a child holding a teddy bear to keep the nightmares at bay.

* * *

Bill was twisting violently in his sleep, a nightmare clearly haunting his small form. Gideon had woken at the small mewling cries the boy was making. He sighed, draped a hand across his tired face and got up from the sleeping roll on the floor. He settled onto the boy's bed and shook him awake.

"NOO! You can't hurt them! I won't let you!" Bill yelled into Gideon's face, tiny fists balled and ready to swing.

"Whoa there, Billy. It was just a dream. We're all safe now. No one's getting hurt. I've got you now, lad." Gideon pulled his nephew and godson onto his lap, where the boy proceeded to bury his sobs into Gideon's Puddlemere United fan jersey. Fabian shifted on the floor, meeting his twin's eyes with a weak smile. Both had expected nightmares to plague their nephews for a while after the terror of being hidden in the cellar during the attack.

"I've got you, Bill. I won't let anyone get hurt. I'm here and we're all safe."

* * *

So, please review!


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